The Prodigal
by The Cleric
Summary: Stripped of her powers and duties as Wonder Woman, Diana finds unlikely solace from Batman, who offers her a job at WayneTech. With his help, Diana begins the road to reclaiming her title. COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1

_Diana _

It all started with a rerun of Friends.

Well, actually, it all started with a Martian invasion of Man's World leading to my becoming Wonder Woman and the formation of the Justice League. My present predicament however, started off with an episode of the show Friends. At least from my perspective.

Up until that point, my life was actually going rather well. Superman and I had just helped defeat an extraterrestrial child who'd somehow wound up on earth with a perfectly volatile mix of great power and a tendency for temper tantrums. After that debacle though, there really weren't that many problems of Justice League variety, giving me and all of the other senior members something of a break.

So I became very acquainted with the word leisure, and found that I liked it immensely. And despite the fact that Man's World entertainment is often laughable, offensive, or both, I cultivated a regular habit of curling up on my couch and watching television instead of sparring with Superman or Black Canary as I usually did.

The doorbell rang right when Ross was about start an argument with Rachel. Frowning, I turned the television off with the remote control, got up, and went to the door. _Odd_, I thought as I opened the door. I didn't get very many visitors at all.

And I had certainly never had a visitor like this before. She was an Amazon. Even if she had not looked familiar, I would have known it. The posture, the bearing, the lean, muscular body. Human women spent thousands of dollars to try to look like that, and I doubted if any had ever succeeded.

I stared at her. Tall and willowy, with reddish hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. Her attire was perfectly normal for Themyscera, but I had a feeling that ancient Greek armor wasn't exactly the pinnacle of fashion in Man's World.

I was saved from an awkward moment of silent confusion by the other woman, who began speaking almost immediately. "Princess Diana," she greeted me, bowing her head slightly in deference. Nevertheless, I felt the woman's profound insincerity. It was noticeable in the way she said my name, as if it were causing a bad taste in the back of her mouth.

"Hello," I replied. The woman smirked as I said the words. "Do you want to come in?" The last thing I needed was for my neighbors to see a woman dressed like that standing on my porch when it wasn't Halloween.

"No, I will be gone soon," said the woman. "My name is Artemis, by the way."

I recognized the name. Artemis was one of the fiercest warriors on the entire island, at least when I had last visited. I vaguely remembered supervising one of her sparring matches with another Amazon. She'd been aggressive to the point of brutal. I wondered what she was doing here in Gateway City at my door.

"What do you need?" I asked. To the point, since I really wanted to get back to my show.

"Your armor," replied Artemis. I definitely was not imagining the smirk.

"Excuse me."

"I need you to hand over your armor as well as your gauntlets," repeated Artemis. "You are hereby relieved of them and your title as Emissary to Man's World."

I was shocked, wondering who had put this woman up to such a joke. "Ah. Well I'm afraid that's impossible," I told her. "I am confused as to why you would even ask such a thing."

"You certainly are confused if you think this is a request," Artemis clipped back. "The armor now."

I forced myself to smile. "No, Artemis. You may not have the armor, and frankly I'm surprised that you think I'd even consider it." My smile became tight-lipped. "You should go home now." I started to close the door, only to be stopped by Artemis, who grasped the edge and held it there. She was strong. Strong enough that I would probably end up breaking the door if I tried to overpower her. I let go.

"I will gladly return to Themyiscera," Artemis said, "once you comply with Hippolyta's orders."

"Wha-How dare you invoke my mother's name in this?" I could feel my fists clenching almost involuntarily. If Artemis thought it was funny to even dare suggest that my own mother would-"

Then Artemis did something unexpected. She produced a parchment scroll from a satchel at her waist and handed it to me. "Read."

Eyes narrowed, I snatched the document from Artemis's hand, seeing the seal of my mother almost immediately whatever the document said, it was said with her consent.

Which is why it hurt worse than a thousand javelins when I saw the contents of the edict. My mother had tried some to gloss over what she was saying, but she was still striping me of everything that had come to define who I was, namely my tenure as Wonder Woman. No grievances were listed, merely the cold fact that for whatever reason, my mother had decided that exile was not enough and I needed to be deprived of my identity as well.

"This-this is outrageous," I breathed as I scanned the document.

"And perfectly legitimate as well. If you wish, you can come back to Themyiscera with me and hear it from your mother's own lips," suggested Artemis.

I only heard the first part though, because by the time she'd finished her sentence, I was already airborne.

It didn't take me long at all to reach the island of my birth. Had I actually been paying attention to the time elapsed, I probably would have found I was traveling fast enough to make Flash proud. Urgency does that to you, and for me, it was the need to find out if this was true. Part of me said it was impossible. After all that I had accomplished, it simply did not make sense for my mother to suddenly take away my title and duties.

And there was something else nagging in the back of my head. Since when could Artemis, or any other Amazon (with few exceptions), fly? I didn't know, but the evidence was right beside me as Artemis easily kept pace with me on our way to the island.

The instant it came into view, I felt a throb of homesickness that almost made it hard to breathe. I had thought that over time, the pain of my exile would diminish but the raw longing came back with a vengeance, just at the sight of the paradise I had known for most of my life.

When I descended down, there were two guards waiting for me. I recognized them from my mother's palace, but their eyes seemed to glaze over when they reached mine.

Then their eyes reached my attire, which consisted of an oversized black T-shirt and some biking shorts. I probably couldn't have done a better job of choosing un-Amazonian clothing if I'd tried. Their eyes certainly reflected that anyway. I tried to cover my embarrassment with the same businesslike expression I used in the League.

"I must speak with my mother," I told them, still ignoring Artemis. I braced myself for a conflict-it certainly wouldn't have been the most unusual thing to happen that day, but the two guards merely nodded in compliance.

"Very well," said the lead Amazonian. "I take it you know the way."

"I haven't been in exile that long," I retorted, brushing past them both. I knew that bringing up the exile would have an effect, especially since I had only become an exile because of actions taken to save Themyiscera. Sure enough, guilt flashed across the woman's face, no doubt as she remembered what it was like being turned into stone by Faust.

"Touché," whispered Artemis, falling into stride beside me.

"Shut up!"

It was a childish reaction that only made Artemis's smile grow. "Perhaps I'm supposed to feel a twinge of guilt myself. Or gratitude, for your heroic rescue. Why, if it wasn't for the mighty Princess Diana, I'd still be stuck as a stone statue."

"Its true," I muttered.

"Perhaps. I honestly don't care. You polluted Amazon soil with men, a sin that outweighs even your 'heroism'. And look at you. Your speech, your _dress_ . . .Gods, you've become just like them." She did nothing to hide the disgust in her voice, and I wondered if hers was a sentiment shared by the rest of my Amazonian sisters.

"Here we are," Artemis announced a moment later, nodding to the temple that loomed ahead of us.

"I suppose you're going to follow me in."

"Not necessary. It shouldn't take long for your mother to confirm what I've told you."

I glared at the woman who had turned my life upside down in less than a day, then started up the steps. I could see my mother, regal and poised as always, sitting on her throne, surrounded by the royal Amazonian guards. Once again, I felt the acute inadequacy of my appearance. I knew I looked like a harried, stressed-out woman who had just been rousted from a state of relaxation and flown halfway around the world, never mind that that was what had really happened.

"Diana," my mother called out as I approached. "Its good to see you, my daughter." She wore a smile, but that was it. The true smile didn't reach her eyes, and I knew at that moment that something was wrong. That Artemis had been telling the truth. I gulped, trying to push down the intense feeling of betrayal that threatened to consume me.

"Tell me it's not true."

To my mother's credit, she didn't try to lie to me. "A lot of things have happened here on Themyiscera since you've been-"

"Tell me it's not true," I repeated, louder this time.

My mother averted her gaze to the floor. "I'm afraid I can't," she said.

I just stared at her, not knowing what else to do. My entire body felt numb ad detached, as if I were watching it happen to me from elsewhere.

"It was necessary," my mother continued, rising from her seat to come stand in front of me.

"To take my title, my armor . . .that's necessary?" I couldn't even begin to stop the bitterness creeping into my voice.

"Yes," said my mother. "It was." A sad expression crossed her face. "Things have changed in the time you've been gone. There was an attempted coup. Many of the Amazons attempted to overthrow me, supplant me with a queen of their own."

"What! Why would they do that?"

"Dissatisfaction, unrest, Amazons are not immune to the social ills of other societies. Regardless, the rebellion was suppressed, but only after certain agreements were made with the separatist clans. It was that or be entrenched in more warfare and violence and bloodshed. They wanted something. If not the queenship, then a consolation prize. One of their own-as Ambassador to Man's World, with the sanction of the gods themselves as well as Themyiscera."

I just stared at her, absorbing the significance of what she was saying. I wasn't just being fired, I was being replaced. It wasn't a great leap of logic either to figure out who that replacement was supposed to be either.

"Artemis," I gasped thinking of the red-haired warrior waiting outside.

My mother nodded. "Yes, she is the one who will take over all of your duties and responsibilities as Wonder Woman."

I was already shaking my head, backing away from my mother. "You would not have authorized this," I said, "not unless you already had doubts about what I was doing. You might as well tell me. Why did you lose faith in me?'

Hippolyta sighed. "Not just me," she corrected. "Many of the Amazons, on both sides of the conflict. What you're doing outside of Themyiscera, its wonderful. But look at you. Your lifestyle, your activities . . .your dress, even your speech and accent. it all reeks of influence from Man's World. It has changed you when the situation should be the other way around. Not to mention cavorting around with that multi-billionaire, Bruce Wayne.

"I did not cavort with anyone!" I snapped, anger replacing the hurt I was feeling. "If you are referring to that one dance-." I stopped, pointing a finger at her. "And how would you know about any of that? Its not like you get a damn newspaper at your doorstep! Have you lost so much trust that you've resorted to spying on me?"

"Your conduct recently has caused many to already doubt your suitability for this position. You get involved in all of the petty wars and fights of the Men when you should be rising above that and showing them the road to creating a peaceful society," my mother said, completely ignoring the question.

"Like ours?" I retorted angrily. "Like Themyiscera? Oh yes, we're such a peaceful society what with our civil wars and all!"

My mother did not respond. She couldn't, I knew. There as nothing to say to that. No justification, just an unforgiving edict that I had no choice but to abide by.

"I guess you could say that conversation didn't go so well," remarked Artemis once I emerged form the temple. I slugged her. Hard enough to spin her three hundred and sixty degrees like a demented ballerina before dropping to the ground.

"Yeah," I said, rubbing my fist. "You could say that."

"No one strikes me with impunity," growled Artemis as she rose to her feet. "Not even a so-called Wonder Woman."

"You're lucky to be breathing," I snapped back. "Traitor. I know you were part of the group of insurrectionists who tried to overthrow my mother."

"Maybe I am. And maybe what you know about the entire situation could fit on a pinhead. Perhaps in Man's World, you're allowed to simply attack others without reprisal, but I can assure you that's not the case here."

"You will never truly be Wonder Woman,"

"I already am. I have the powers, the sanction, and the armor. I took the liberty of having some of my operatives search your home while we were here. Its safely on its way here to its rightful owner. Me." She leveled her gaze. "Now leave. I believe your reprieve from exile has run out."

As I walked through the cities, through the island of my birth, I couldn't help but see it in a more critical light. While I once would have assumed camaraderie with any of my fellow Amazons simply because of the bond of Amazonian sisterhood, I now could not help but view every one with a suspicious eye. _Had she been one of the rebel Amazons who had attempted to betray my mother?_ I would wonder. It was a sickening feeling, not being able to trust a fellow Amazon. If our society couldn't even remain a cohesive, functioning unit, how could I expect to be able to achieve the same for any others?

Reaching the edge of the island, I gave my former home one last, longing look before flying off, my thoughts so muddled that I hardly even noticed the fact that I wasn't traveling anywhere near as fast as I should have been able to. I reached home some time later, attributing my physical exhaustion to stress. Certainly it couldn't have been the flying-that was one of my easier powers to use and a trip to Themyscera shouldn't have caused that kind of fatigue.

Friends wasn't on anymore, and I didn't really care. All I wanted to really do was curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep, but neither tears nor sleep would come for a very long time.

_Bruce_

"This had better be important, Superman," I muttered as I entered the JL Watchtower's conference room. His priority alert had been tagged urgent, which was the only reason I was in a satellite orbiting the earth instead of down in Gotham, trying to avert the latest crime wave.

"Stop being such a grouch and sit down," said Superman, an unusual expression of worry constraining his features. He wasn't even looking at me though, but rather past me. I turned to see Diana.

Or at least someone who wore Diana's costume. The attire was right, but the face, while beautiful, was a bit more severe than Diana's. The eyes, unlike Diana's deep blue, were a predatory green. Her hair was also different. Pulled back and into a ponytail.

I did a double take. "Who are you?" I growled.

The woman looked taken aback for a brief moment complements of my patented BatStare. She composed herself quickly however and managed to avoid eye contact. "My name is Artemis," she answered. "I have been assigned by Queen Hippolyta to take over all of the responsibilities and duties of the old Wonder Woman."

"The old Wonder Woman?" I murmured, half to myself. I whirled on Clark. "Surely you don't-"

"Her story checks out," interrupted Clark. "I know, I can hardly believe it myself. But J'onn's already scanned her mind and every telepath we have has confirmed her truthfulness."

"That doesn't mean we have to accept her into the League!"

"Your League needs an Amazon," said Artemis, obviously unhappy at being talked about as if she weren't in the room. "I have all of the powers and abilities of the former Wonder Woman, and I do take my commission quite seriously. Surely you wouldn't turn down a member of my immense power simply for personal reasons."

I ignored her. "What does Diana have to say about all of this?" I asked Clark.

The League's founding member tossed a small, round media disk. "She sent this just a while ago. See for yourself."

I neatly caught the disk and slid it into one of my utility belt's many compartments. "This whole thing stinks," I said frankly.

Clark looked nervously between myself and Artemis. "There's no need to start alienating Artemis before she even gains official membership," he said. "Trust me, I'm going to get enough grief over this from Flash and the other League Vets once they find out."

"Who knows?"

"Me, you, and J'onn. I haven't had time to contact Flash or Lantern, much less any of the newcomers to JLU."

I nodded, then turned back to Artemis, who regarded me with a cold, predatory stare so unlike Diana's that I felt a fresh surge of disbelief. I glared unflinchingly right back at her. "I wouldn't get too comfortable," I said. "If I were you."

Artemis' chin went up in pure defiance. "You don't intimidate me," she replied.

I gave her another BatStare, for the road, and then turned around, cape trailing me like a cloak of darkness. Getting into a verbal bout with her would have been pointless as well as elementary. That did not mean, however, that I had accepted this sudden change in the JL roster. Not by a long shot.

Some time later, back in the Batcave, I pored over Diana's transmission for the seventh time, my trained eyes searching in vain for any hint of foul play. I saw none. No hint of coercion, or an imposter, or any of the abnormalities I had hoped for.

The transmission message wasn't very long-maybe seven minutes in length. Diana was not dressed in her uniform, but rather in a simple black T-shirt. She obviously hadn't given any attention to her physical appearance, as was evidenced by her mussed hair and red-rimmed eyes. She'd been crying earlier.

My heart sank as I watched one of the League's most noble members concede defeat. She gave no reasons for why she could no longer continue as Wonder Woman, simply saying that it was a strictly Amazonian affair and no one should interfere. She went on to say that she did not wish for anyone from the League to contact her and she would be leaving for parts unknown. Last but not least, she touched on Artemis. It was obvious from her body language that she had no more love for her replacement than I did, but her instructions were nevertheless to accept Artemis as the new Wonder Woman, no questions asked.

"Sir," said Alfred, coming up behind me. "May I remind you that tomorrow, you have several contracts to sign and a merger to-"

"I know," I said, cutting him off with a wave of my hand.

"Its 3:00 in the morning."

"I know," I lied. "This . . .is just really important."

Alfred knew when back down. "Very well sir. I shall see you in the morning then."

"Good night, Alfred."

"Good night, Master Bruce."

I turned back to the Batcave's large monitor, finally giving up on the task of finding foul play. "Computer," I said, "Give me all satellite surveillance footage of 5674 N. N. Goodwin Lane, Gateway City USA."

In a matter of seconds, I had footage from a dozen different government and private satellites, all of it of Diana Prince's home. It didn't take long to find what I was looking for. Out of the driveway came her civilian identity's car. The task of determining where it was going was a more difficult task since there was no convenient GPS or any other system I could access.

What shocked me was her destination. I had thought if Diana didn't return to Themyscera she might go to another country or at least a far different part of the country. Then I realized how simple, yet effective her deception was. She'd said she was going far away, so why would anyone think to look for her in, say . . .Gotham?

_Diana_

By now, I thought, Artemis is probably up in the Watchtower. I wondered how they would react to her. Would they welcome her with open arms? Forget all about me since they had their replacement? I didn't think so, but then again I never would have imagined that my own mother would deliver such a stinging betrayal. Great judge of character I was.

But that wasn't even the worst of my problems. As I sat in one of Gotham city's dingiest motel rooms, counting cracks in the ceiling, all of my thoughts kept coming back to what I knew to be true, but couldn't accept.

My powers were gone. My strength, my speed, everything. My exhaustion flying back from Themyscera-it had been more than simple exhaustion. Within a matter of hours, all my powers had deserted me. It was like suddenly going half blind and half deaf. One of the most miserable experiences in my life.

I had said I was going far away. But I wasn't. I was maybe a ten-minute drive from my own base of operations, Gateway City. I was in Gotham and I still didn't know why. Why not Metropolis or some other city? I didn't even know why I had run in the first place or what I was running from.

But regardless of what I was running from, even I couldn't kid myself about who I was running to. Gotham was the Batman's territory. Undisputed. And sooner or later, our paths would cross. He was the only veteran member of the League with no superpowers whatsoever, and certainly could do nothing to help my situation at home.

It was raining outside. A thunderstorm, with lightning and everything. It was the lightning that illuminated Batman's form for a brief moment and caused me to jump back in shock.

"Batman," I said, surprised, despite my secret hopes that I would see him anyway. I trailed off with that one word. I could have asked a million questions, like how he'd found me or how he'd managed to get into my room, but I didn't. I just watched him step out of the shadows.

"Wonder Woman," he said. I usually preferred it when he called me by my given name, but in this case I made an exception. I smiled inside that he still thought of me as Wonder Woman, even if I didn't."

"What are you doing here?" I asked after a moment of silence between us. Once again, a nearby bolt of lightning illuminated his visage, sending involuntary shivers down my spine.

"I could ask you the same," replied Batman. "You are aware this is Gotham."

"Did you come here to try to talk me out of resigning from the League?" I asked, "Because J'onn already beat you to it."

"I want to know what happened," said Batman. "Why is someone else wearing your armor and carrying your title and position in the Justice League.

"Its a long story," I said.

Batman didn't look the slightest bit put off. "I have time," he said.

And so I told him. Everything. Once I started it was like breaking a dam, the flow couldn't be stopped. I started with the episode of Friends, since that seemed most logical, and went on to Artemis's arrival, my subsequent trip to Themyiscera, and my confrontation with my mother. "After that," I said, "I just went home. Well, my civilian home anyway."

"So what are you doing in Gotham?" Batman pressed.

"I don't know, OK. I-I don't know a lot of things."

Batman continued to regard me silently for a moment. "Do you know what you're going to do now?" he asked.

I laughed, even though there was nothing funny in the slightest about my situation. "What can I do? No way I'm going back to Themyiscera, and the one thing I want most is to help Man's World, but now that's Artemis's job. So I guess there's nothing for me to do."

Batman looked at me disapprovingly. "This isn't like you, Diana," he told me. "Neither was the message you sent. You're reveling in your own self pity, and it's affecting your logic. No one is telling you that you can't stay in the League except for you."

"Yeah," I scoffed. "That would work. We could have two Wonder Woman's, except one of them can pick up a tank and the other can barely lift double her body weight. Without my powers, there's just no place in the League for me." I knew as soon as the words left my mouth that it was the wrong thing to say, especially to Batman, who had no powers. "Listen," I said, forcing my demeanor to soften and placing a hand on Batman's arm. "I didn't mean that you have to have powers to-"

"No offense taken," Batman said, cutting me off. "You were one of the most powerful members of the League, and I certainly can't imagine what its like to have that kind of power taken away. What I can do is help you."

"Help me do what?"

"Find a purpose for your life. A path to take. You came to our world out of a desire to help mankind, and while you may not be able to function in that same capacity, you can still work towards that goal, with or without powers."

"You mean like you?"

"No, not necessarily. You said that one thing your mother faulted you on was not publicly taking more peaceful actions to promote peace. I could give you a job at Wayne Enterprises in our foreign relations department or something doing exactly that."

"Bruce-" I began, almost unconsciously reverting to his actual name. He cut me off with a wave of his hand however.

"Just think about it," he said. "If you agree, contact Bruce Wayne and he'll have you in your own office doing what you want to do in no time." He tossed me a card, which I caught in one deft motion. At least I still had some reflex left. "That's the number to call."

I looked at the card, then back at Batman, still just barely aware that my hand remained on his arm. "Why are you doing this for me?" I asked sincerely. "I don't know if I want you to go through all of this trouble on my behalf.

His expression didn't change. "Its no trouble, and you can trust that I never make an offer I haven't fully considered from every angle. I would strongly suggest that you accept." I tried to read something . . .anything in his features that would give a less cryptic explanation for his sudden desire to help me, but his features remained as impassive and indecipherable as ever.

I let my hand drop and read the business card, noting Bruce Wayne's private number and e-mail. "Thank you," I said while glancing up. I had just finished the 'you' when I realized that Batman had completely vanished, as if he'd never been in the room at all. I smiled. Some things never changed.


	2. Chapter 2

_Diana_

The first thing I did the next morning was quit my other job, which was surprisingly enough as a secretary. The work may have been boring, but it paid the bills and kept me relatively low on the radar, always a plus for a superheroine.

Well, ex-superheroine.

It wasn't a hard job to quit though. In fact, I felt rather relieved once I had finished making the call. I'd never enjoyed the mundane tasks of a secretary and I certainly didn't need its monetary compensation, especially if I took Bruce up on his offer.

I sighed and tried not to think of all the ways my life had changed recently as I stared at my hotel room ceiling from the bed. My wrists felt naked without my bracelets adorning them and the pale flesh that had once been sheathed by the special gauntlets was a stark contrast to the bronze tan of the rest of my body.

I rolled over and reached for Bruce's card, fingers fumbling around until they closed around the small white cardboard rectangle. Part of me rebelled at the idea of working for Batman. Even if I'd had any experience in any field that could possibly be of use to him, it would feel like taking charity. And even I didn't feel that pitiful.

Then of course was the subtle, yet undeniable tension that had existed between the two of us ever since Gorilla City . . .my grateful kiss at the sight of the dirt on his gloves accumulated while frantically searching for me. Since then, it had almost been a little game of ours. My flirting with him to see how much of his stoic, emotionless façade I could crack.

But then it stopped being a game, and I realized that in all of the lighthearted tension, real and deep feelings on my part, at least, had begun to take hold. It made working with the Batman a roller coaster of emotions even on my most stable days. And right now I was very, very far from stable.

I put the card back on the dresser and my fingers found something else. The remote to the TV. I doubted that there was a single thing on that could possibly offer me entertainment in my present condition, but something still urged me to pick up the slim, black device, point at the television, and press ON.

The screen flickered to life. It was a kids channel. Some cartoon. I changed the channel. A soap opera. I shuddered and hit the UP button again, where I was immediately confronted with the immaculate image of Bruce Wayne's face in the top left hand corner of the screen where several financial analysts opined and discussed a recent merger of his. Despite knowing his secret identity, it was hard to reconcile this smiling handsome face with Batman's . . .well. . . unsmiling handsome face. I was just about to change the station once more to spare myself the agony of obsessing over Batman/Bruce Wayne when the words NEWS ALERT flashed across the screen and the image immediately shifted to another familiar face.

I would have recognized Artemis anywhere. Loathing does that, it burns the object of your dislike indelibly into the mind's eye, ready to be triggered by even the faintest reminder.

It was Artemis, and she was wearing my armor. My bracelets. She had a wicked-looking bow slung across her back and a quiver full of arrows hanging beside it. It took me a moment to realize that she was in the midst of giving a press conference.

"... sure I speak for all of when I ask, where is the 'old' Wonder Woman," I caught the voice of a reporter shouting out. I was beginning to understand where the term 'blood boiling' had come from, because that is certainly what it felt like inside of my body.

"The 'old' Wonder Woman is no more," Artemis said regally, chin in the air, as if she could not bear to look at the mere mortals down below her head-on. "I honestly have no idea what has happened to her, and to me it's quite inconsequential. She has severed all ties with the Themyisceran nation and no longer carries any rank, ambassadorial or otherwise, that was bequeathed by the government of Themyiscera."

"Is it true that you've replaced her in the Justice League?" shouted out another reporter.

"Yes," Artemis answered, ponytail waving like a flag on claimed territory.

"What is your agenda, as the new Wonder Woman?" called out one reporter who sounded terribly familiar. The camera zoomed up on him, revealing the face of Clark Kent. I never ceased to be amazed at how a pair of ninety-nine dollar glasses and a slight hairdo adjustment were all that it took for one of the world's most well-known and sought-after figures to remain anonymous.

"My agenda," declared Artemis, sounding for all the world like a presidential candidate in a speech, "Is to accomplish true equality for women around the globe as well as foster diplomatic relations with Themyiscera. I will also participate in the Justice League and serve in combat situations when needed. I do, after all, possess all of the strength and powers of the former Wonder Woman.

Clark's face remained neutral, but I could only guess at the thoughts storming around in his head. They were probably similar to mine, except nowhere near as intense. I couldn't believe how arrogant Artemis was, making it sound as if I was some kind of reject from my own island! Never mind that it was at least partially true.

Having seen enough, I reached for the remote and turned the TV off. Artemis now had my job. A job that I loved and had dedicated my life to. And she was a disgrace to the very name Wonder Woman. I vowed right then and there not to let this defeat me. Not to give up. I wanted my armor back and I wanted my title back.

And in the meantime, while I somehow concocted a plan that would give me both, I would take Bruce up on his offer.

* * *

_Bruce_

"I can't stand her," Flash said simply, setting down his lunch tray at a table in the cafeteria. "I mean, she's a babe, don't get me wrong. And the costume definitely works for those curves. But she's got attitude, y'know. Plus," he leaned in conspiratorially, "I been getting' some vibes from that chick. I'm scared she might react violently when I tell her that the Flash cannot be tied down to one woman."

"One more word," warned John Stewart as he took a seat at the opposite end of the table. He turned to the rest of us. "Speedy here is right about one thing though. I can't say I like the new Wonder Woman either.

It wasn't hard to figure out whom the conversation revolved around. Artemis certainly hadn't wasted time in making waves, first with the press conference, and then her return to the Watchtower. It had taken no more than an hour for Artemis to make enemies of half the League, and the other half would be coming around soon. She had the kind of personality that could be disguised on TV and in public, but was more abrasive than sandpaper up close.

"Guys, guys," Superman moderated. "At least give her a chance to prove herself before making judgments."

"Don't have to," said John. "She's just not a good person. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that one. She's rude, arrogant, and condescending, believes she can do no wrong. Those aren't the qualities of a good team player. She may have Diana's powers and costume, but that's where the resemblance ends. And we both know how much more there is to being an effective League member than raw power."

Because he knew that John was right, Superman didn't answer, turning his attention to his packed lunch.

"What about you, Bats?" asked Flash. "What do you think of her?"

"Pretty much the same," I replied cryptically.

J'onn gave a solemn nod. "Her mind is . . .troubled," he said. "Unstable even. I believe we should keep a close watch on her. She should also not be privy to the private information shared by the upper echelon, such as our secret identities."

"I thought you already mind-scanned her for a clean bill of health," I said.

"I did, but it is not an exact science, and there are ways to fool even a telepath. I picked up no overt deception in her story, but her personal traits are an entirely different matter."

I was not surprised at all with J'onn's opinion-it merely reinforced what I'd already been able to pick up on. Artemis was trouble just waiting to happen.

Later, heard her following me down one of the Watchtower's many quarters. Artemis had many skills, but stealth did not number among them. "You might as well save yourself another pointless walk through the halls and tell me why you're following me," I said finally, turning around. Her expression was slightly confused, and so I pressed the advantage. "Why the surprised look? Did you really think I wouldn't notice you clomping after me in those heels? A herd of African elephants could have chased me and been more conspicuous about it."

Artemis' eyes glared dangerously as she came to stand in front of me. Almost exactly my height. "So weak and powerless," she mused. "Yet you antagonize individuals who literally rend you limb from limb in the blink of an eye.

I smirked. "Like you?"

Artemis was quick, but her eyes gave her away. Her hand flashed up to grab me on the arm, perhaps teach me a lesson in pain. But I was already countering. It took the simplest of martial arts moves to reverse the hold, so I was holding her hand, and suddenly twist her off balance and slam her into a wall. Superstrength or not, any human has positions of unnatural leverage that can render them helpless when flawlessly executed. My follow-up was perfect; I struck a nerve center in her lower back to induce temporary paralysis, then maneuvered her arm into a painful position behind her body.

I leaned close to Artemis's ear, ignoring the fury on her face at not being able to break my hold as well as my own fatigue from trying to hold down a metahuman with my merely human strength. "That was a very stupid thing to do," I whispered forcefully. "Don't try it again."

With that, I suddenly released her, allowing her to wobble a bit before righting herself. I could see her facial expressions, trying to come up with a comeback that would salvage her dignity, failing, and that failure turning into just more loathing. "You do not want to make an enemy of me, Batman."

"Don't flatter yourself," I said over my shoulder as I walked past. "We've been enemies ever since you arrived."

I could feel her glare burning through me as I walked to the Watchtower docking port. There was only limited amusement to be found in getting Artemis all riled up, and at the moment my mind was already moving on to a different Amazon entirely.

* * *

_Diana_

I arrived at Wayne Manor by noon, at which time I found myself standing awkwardly on what could be described a porch in the same way a 747 could be described as a paper airplane. I'd seen big buildings before, but the architecture I was used to, especially on Themyiscera, didn't favor this type of grand, towering edifice.

Before I could even ring the doorbell, double doors opened to reveal Alfred, Bruce's loyal butler. I remembered him from the Thanagarian invasion and so had no trouble slipping into easy familiarity.

"Hello, Ms. Diana," he greeted in his dapper British voice, stepping to the side and ushering me indoors. "You look as beautiful as ever, please, come in."

"Thank you Alfred," I said graciously, stepping inside to the main room. I looked up to see a spiraling staircase that led to another level far above our heads. Once, I would have been able to defy the forces of gravity and fly up there easily. It was a painful reminder of what I had lost. "Where's Bruce?" I asked, easing off the jacket I had worn as a precaution because of last night's weather.

"Right here," came my answer from above. I looked back up to the same stairway that had just occupied my attention to see Bruce descending them lightly, a spring in his step that was never present in his costumed identity. He looked really good, in a dark, long sleeved shirt and casual khakis, none of which did anything but complement his already impressive physique. I was once again struck by the difference between Bruce Wayne and Batman. At times, the one leaked over into the other identity, but on the other hand it wasn't hard to see why Bruce's identity could stay secret.

"Hello, Diana," he said, showing off gleaming white teeth as he smiled and took my hand.

"Bruce," I acknowledged, taking my hand back. Was that a hint of flirtatiousness in his smile, or was it the same grin that he gave to everyone he saw?

"Do you want, something to eat?" he asked, motioning towards the nearby sofa. "Drink?"

The politeness in me wanted to say no, but my stomach said otherwise, in the form of a very audible growl. I looked sheepishly back up at him. "Maybe just a small snack," I said.

Five minutes later, we in the kitchen. Or rather, one of the kitchens. Plural. I quickly learned that in addition to his repertoire of skills, he possessed the ability to prepare seafood that bordered on divine. I had never tasted such good shrimp.

From across the table, Bruce gave me a look of consternation. "When was the last time you ate?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Yesterday morning, I guess."

He nodded, then his eyes became distant as thoughts only he was privy to whirled around in his head. "You're welcome to as much as you like," he said after a while.

"Thank you, but I'm not exactly starving. Besides, the reason I came here in the first place was to talk."

"Ah. Business first. How savvy." He leaned forward, shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms that rested lightly on the edge of the table.

He stopped at that, rolling the ball into my court. Time to pick it up. "You said I could have a job," I started.

"Yes I did."

"Well, what kind of job are we talking about?"

"Anything. Anything you want."

"What I really want are my former duties back."

Bruce arched an eyebrow. "Well, unfortunately, out of all of the thousands of job opportunities in Waynetech, the swimsuit-wearing superheroine department doesn't have any openings."

He said this with such a straight face that I couldn't help but smile. "What I mean is, I'd be more than happy to take you up on your offer, but only until I figure out a way to become Wonder Woman again."

"Fair enough. So do you have any preferences as to what department you want to work in?"

"I'm sure you know my qualifications. I can't say I love secretarial work, but I do have the clerical skills."

"More than anything, I want you to be comfortable," Bruce told me. "Have you thought about a more . . .public occupation? I know you have the communication skills, and you're a fast learner. My Foreign Relations department has an opening."

I nodded, motioning for him to go on.

He gave another shrug. "You already know enough languages to put any translator to shame, and you understand diplomatic relations. The difference is that instead of working between nations, you'll be working between corporations, but I think you would be ideal for the job."

"I want to be able to help people."

"Well, you certainly don't need a job at Wayne Enterprises to do that. If you stayed with the company though, your position would be such that you certainly wield a great deal of influence. Especially since this is specifically the Humanitarian Aid branch of Foreign Relations. You really are perfect for the job."

Reasonable, I thought. I could handle it, and in the meantime plot a way to reclaim my title. I opened my mouth to say as much, but was interrupted by a lightning strike which briefly flash-lit the windows followed by an earth-rumbling peal of thunder. I groaned inwardly at the following pit-pit-pit-pit of heavy rain. Yesterday's bad weather was back for the sequel.

I stood. "I should really probably get going," I explained, pushing my chair back in. "The food was delicious."

Bruce nodded and rose to his feet as well. "Of course. Let me get your coat and you can be on your way. We'll talk details tomorrow."

* * *

_Bruce_

I retrieved Diana's jacket quickly, stepping behind her so that she could slide into it. For a brief second, my arms were around her and I had to force myself to step back. Having no idea where the desire had come from, I squelched it down hard, regaining my composure.

"Thank you," said Diana softly. She stepped towards me and at first I though she was going to hug me, but then I saw the outstretched hand. I shook it.

"Tomorrow then?" I said.

Diana nodded. "Tomorrow," she confirmed. Then she stepped outside and into the pouring rain.

I watched her as she took her first step from under the shelter of the porch overhang. She was drenched instantly. It was a vicious rain that was coming down that night. She took her second step. I could see the droplets bounce off of her hunched over form. The deluge had to have soaked completely to her skin by now.

A gust of wind blew, forcing her to take two quick steps to the left to keep her balance. She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to fight back against the elements. Could she even see her car? I couldn't. Driving would be impossible in this weather. No way she could make it off the street without crashing into a light post.

And so I made one offer that I would never in a million years have imagined I would make.

* * *

_Diana_

Bruce called out something to me. He'd probably called it out pretty loud, but compared to the roar of the rain, thunder, and lightning, he might as well have been whispering. Nevertheless, I was grateful for the excuse to turn back around. Maybe I could get an umbrella or something, just so I'd be able to find my car.

It took me something like thirty seconds to get back up to the door. I was freezing, the water having long since soaked through my clothes. Amazing how sensitive the body could be when not augmented by superhuman powers.

"Come inside," he was saying. "C'mon. Inside. Now."

The instant I was back inside, he shut the door behind me, to my eternal relief. The warm inside was already helping my waterlogged body recuperate.

"You're staying here for the night," he said simply, steering me towards Alfred. "No arguments. The weather's far too hazardous for you or anyone to even be driving down the block, much less from here to the hotel."

"But-" I protested. The reason I didn't finish was not because he cut me off, but rather because I didn't know what objection I was going to finish with. He was right. Even as we spoke, rain was coming down in biblical proportions with the periodic thunderbolt and lightning strike for good measure. As inexperienced as I was with cars, I wouldn't even make it out of the driveway.

"No buts," said Bruce calmly. I have more guest rooms than-well, lets just say I have a lot. Take your pick.

"Bruce," I responded, still trying to logically find a way to avoid all of the emotional complications I'd be having by staying the night. "I don't even have a change of clothes with me. And I doubt you keep women's apparel in your closet."

Bruce arched an eyebrow, as if the assumption was funny. "In some of them, yes. One of the many provisions a billionaire playboy must make in the line of duty." The slight smile on his lips accentuated the humor in his words. "You can have complete privacy," he said. "I'm not going to take that away, nor do I want to. I just don't want you putting yourself or any others in danger by going out there. Its your choice, though. I can't make you agree."

His unassailable logic combined with my intense desire to avoid going out into the pouring rain again was why fifteen minutes later, I was laying down in a room the size of my old hotel and a bed the size of my old hotel room. It was also infinitely more comfortable, one of those controllable beds like you see on those infomercials. Thirty-two inch wide screen high definition TV too, with five-point-one Dolby digital surround-sound. I have no idea what those things mean, but they definitely sounded appealing while Alfred recited them.

As I listened to various radio meteorologists drone on about the hazardous weather conditions, I found myself being thankful I had taken Bruce up on his offer, especially since he had kept his word as promised. I had absolute privacy, four levels and a nice long walk up the stairs from the house's only other occupants.

I still didn't know what to do with Bruce. Silly question. If there was one thing I'd learned in all of my time spent with him, it was that no one 'did' _anything_ with him. He did what he pleased, which is quite an accomplishment when in the presence of superheroes like Superman or even myself (back when I had my powers).

How I felt about him was a whole different matter. I didn't know, to be honest. As I stared at the ceiling in my room, so much cleaner and nicer than the hotel's, I honestly knew that I liked him. As a friend. Maybe more, if I could honestly say that there were deepening feelings behind my former causal flirtation. And what if there were? Even being one of the most powerful being on the planet hadn't seemed to impress Bruce in the slightest, and I'd lost even that. I wondered how I could possibly hold any interest for him now.

* * *

_Bruce_

"Well Master Bruce," commented Alfred back in the Batcave as he and I worked to add the latest modifications to the electroshock defense built in. "Out of all the beautiful women you've brought home with you over the years, I must say this one is my favorite."

"C'mon Alfred. Really, its not like that."

"What is it like then, sir?"

I screwed the last bolt into place and stepped back, placing down my electric drill. "Not like that," I answered. "Diana's stay here isn't a social one."

"Are you sure?"

I looked back at Alfred, unable to stop the frown that began forming. "I may pretend to be a wild, billionaire playboy, but you and I both know that that persona is a mask, nothing more. I would never take advantage of a woman in that way, especially Diana."

Alfred nodded, seeming genuinely chastised. "My apologies sir. I never meant to imply that, but perhaps I should focus my energies in areas besides matchmaking." He sighed. "Ready when you are, sir."

I nodded, took a few more steps back, and activated the electroshock controls in my gauntlet's computer system. There was a brief pause, and then the entire cavern was lit up as arcs of hot white electricity surged through the Batmobile's armor. It was a bit more loud and obnoxious than I had expected, but it would certainly discourage anyone attempting to enter or tamper with my vehicle. They wouldn't be doing much of anything for a very long time.

"Satisfactory, sir?" inquired Alfred.

"Yes." That solved my Batmobile problem, but there was still a much more important one sleeping upstairs in one of the guest rooms. Alfred may have dropped the subject, but he would never have brought it up in the first place if he hadn't sensed something. He was very perceptive about such things.

Alfred had turned to leave, but he paused in mid-step and turned his head back around to face me. "You've spent most of your adult life protecting the security and happiness of others," he remarked. "I just wish you would allow yourself that same happiness."

I chuckled. "Thank you, Alfred."

"You're quite welcome, Master Bruce."


	3. Chapter 3

_Diana_

When I came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, I couldn't help but smile in pleasure at the sight that awaited me as I came into view of the kitchen. I knew that Alfred's culinary skills bordered on legendary, but I was still impressed by the plate of bacon and French toast that rested on my pre-set plate.

Bruce looked awake and energetic and ready to start the day, probably the opposite of my own appearance. I self-consciously put a hand up to my hair as I sat down, scowling at how tousled it felt.

"Good morning," said Bruce amiably, pouring a cup of orange juice and setting it down next to my plate.

"Indeed," added Alfred one of the cupboards. "You certainly look well-rested."

"Thank you," I said, taking a sip of orange juice. "You have a very nice home, Bruce."

"I'm glad you think so." He sat down and the golden morning sunlight from the window briefly illuminated the lower half of his face. For a brief second, it was like watching him in his Batman persona. Until he caught me staring, smiled quizzically, and shifted in his chair, ruining the effect. "Something on my face?" he asked curiously.

I felt myself blush, but still managed to dismiss it off as nothing and take a long, deep sip of orange juice. "So," I said finally, "about this job . . ."

"What about it?"

"Well, for one, when do I start?"

Bruce smiled, a genuine smile, not the one he manufactured for the reporters and cameras. "Now's fine."

_Bruce_

Any concerns I might have had about Diana's ability to adapt into her new job evaporated as soon as her orientation went underway. The process itself was smooth and took almost exactly three hours. Being in charge of the company allows me to manipulate certain facets of its operation to my advantage. Which is why in a short amount of time, Diana had a full resume, contacts, and all of the other customary bells and whistles associated with new employment. Much of it was just for show, but I wasn't kidding about the five hundred thousand dollar/year starting salary plus a one hundred thousand dollar signing bonus.

"Bruce," Diana insisted. "I can't accept this, it's far too much. And I'm not doing this for the money."

"I know," I responded as we pulled up to the company headquarters. I stepped out and helped Dina exit the limo as well before waving goodbye to Alfred and continuing the conversation. "But you're going to need a car, clothes, and a place to stay, unless you plan on making last night a habit. Financially, what I'm giving you is a drop in the bucket considering my own resources, but it will allow you to purchase lodging and transportation without having to worry about getting into any financial trouble.

She sighed. "How will it look to everyone I'm working with. Me getting all of this money?"

"Completely normal, considering that as of now you have two bachelor's degrees and two PhDs in various business and economics fields." All completely fabricated of course, but I didn't feel at all guilty, because the education that Diana had received in her lifetime made Harvard look like a preschool. I was more than confident that she could handle her new responsibilities.

Her first major assignment was in six hours and she had less than half of that to prepare because of the plane ride. However, preparation was not all that essential simply because she would be acting as an onlooker instead of a direct participant this time. Shadowing Hallie Greene, who would act as Diana's temporary supervisor.

Hallie had been with the company five years, and in that time advanced to a position that would have taken most other people ten. She was smart and capable and a peerless communicator with over a dozen languages under her belt. I also had the suspicion that she had more than a professional interest in Bruce Wayne. Though I wouldn't have preferred it that way, she had shown that she was able to do her job well regardless of her personal feelings. And I genuinely liked her.

"You're not coming in," was the first thing Diana said when I did not follow her to the revolving door. It was half question, half statement.

"I know, I have business elsewhere."

She looked disappointed, so I tried to cheer her up. "You look great," I said sincerely. I wasn't lying. Dressed comfortably in a long-sleeved, white blouse (three buttons distractingly undone), and medium length blue skirt, I knew she was going to put every man in the building into cardiac arrest.

Diana wasn't as cheered up by the comment as I'd hoped. "I don't care how I look, I'm more interested in how I'll perform. What if I can't do this?"

"You can." I brought up a hand to put on her shoulder, but thought better of it at the last second and transitioned the motion into an awkward scratch of the neck. Best not to do anything that might make her unduly nervous or uncomfortable. "You're Wonder Woman. You could do this in your sleep."

It sounded to me like a very poor pep talk the instant it left my mouth, but Diana merely smiled, her demeanor brightening somewhat. "Thank you," she said, and then in one fluid movement gave me a peck on the cheek. "I'll see you tonight Bruce."

"Sure thng," I replied, thinking that I would have to give her lame pep talks more often.

_Diana_

Hallie Greene was not at all what I had expected. When Bruce said the word 'supervisor', I had expected someone maybe fifty years old with sharp wrinkles and a lineated forehead. And a voice that sounded like a birdcall.

In reality, Hallie was a stunning thirty-two-year-old blond woman whom one would expect at a modeling agency instead of a technologies corporation. And if the way she spoke of Bruce was any indication, she was interested in more than being acquaintances. Those two facts settled in my head to produce a brief, but powerful wave of jealousy.

"Are you alright, Ms. Prince?" asked Hallie, sitting across from me at her desk. "You had an odd look on your face just now."

"First day jitters," I lied, giving a sheepish smile. "And please, call me Diana."

Hallie nodded understandingly then looked back down at her paperwork. "Well, Diana, lets talk. You have a very interesting file."

"Oh?"

"Yes, quite. You come highly recommended apparently. I see you've traveled the world a great deal."

"Yes, I have."

"Good. The ability to understand, to interact with people from different cultures is imperative in this line of work. And you, you were born in Greece?"

_Close enough. _"Yes," I said, thinking back to my new 'new' life history. "Just off the Mediterranean."

"Fascinating . . ." murmured Hallie. She thumbed through the file briefly and looked back up. "Bruce himself gives his personal recommendation. I can't say I've ever seen that before."

"We're old friends," I explained, trying to avoid an outright lie.

"Ah. Well, the fact that Bruce vouches for you personally tells me just about all I need to know, and I'm completely confident in your ability to handle the responsibility of this job. You do know what you will be doing, correct?"

I hesitated a second too long, but thankfully Hallie overlooked my lack of knowledge. "Starting out, you will be something of an organizer, going through papers and files and properly locating and filing them. With your clerical background, that should be a breeze. Then, you will move up to assisting me with overseas transactions and supervisory efforts. Bruce also said that you were fond of humanitarian work, so I've also arranged for you to be in charge of several of the company's humanitarian programs. Now to be frank, it is completely unprecedented for anyone to be given such a large responsibility immediately upon becoming an employee, but like I said, I believe you can handle it."

I smiled and began to rise from my chair. "I hope I can live up to your expectations, Ms. Greene."

"Call me Hallie," she insisted, smiling. "And I'm sure you will."

_Bruce_

It was the first crisis in weeks and it could not have come at a worst time. Superman and J'onn were away in a distant galaxy and Green Lantern had been called back to Oa temporarily. That left me, Flash, Artemis, and a bunch of rookies to deal with Prizm.

Prizm was human, as far as I could tell. Muscular, with long hair that continually changed color, probably with his mood or power level. His powers, limited control over light, made him formidable. He was careful, methodical in his crimes, and made few mistakes. Except one.

He had ventured into Gotham, carrying his bank heists and miscellaneous other activities to my city. I intended to oversee his downfall personally.

That evening, I pored over every scrap of information I had about Prizm. He could cause blinding flashes of light and even generate deadly, concentrated laser beams that could burn through metal plating. Beyond that though, he seemed pretty much bound by the constraints of regular humans. He had no extra strength or speed and most importantly, he could not fly, which leveled the playing field somewhat.

I had used what few photographs of him that existed to run a detailed scan of his face through the Justice Department records to see if anything turned up. In my experience, super powered criminals often start out as regular criminals. Hopefully, he had too. I was about to check the results for the search when a new window popped up on my computer screen. It read: MH

Meta-Human

I general, I'm very protective of Gotham. It's my turf and I guard it fiercely from other superheroes. Not out of a sense of misplaced possessiveness (though that exists), but simply because no one else knows the ins and outs of Gotham like I do. Where to patrol, how to patrol, how to avoid civilian casualties . . .all of those things are essential to fighting crime in Gotham. Its a delicate balance between protecting the innocent and punishing the guilty, and other heroes, no matter how well-intentioned only get in my way.

Artemis was anything but well intentioned, in my opinion. So when I clicked on the INFO button on the new window and discovered that Artemis had just entered the city, I got up immediately and donned my mask, already dressed in the rest of my Batman attire.

"Leaving early for patrol?" Alfred asked, coming up behind me.

I pulled the mask tightly over my face. "Just a pest control problem."

_Diana_

Men! And their paperwork! It is ridiculous to me how unorganized even the largest company like WayneTech could be when it came to finances that didn't generate direct profit for the company.

My first task was an organizational one, during which I discovered that the finances of the company's charity branch were, to put it mildly, a mess. My first instinct was to simply ignore it. Surely I couldn't be expected to sort through all of that paperwork on my first day.

However, something struck me as odd about the tangle of account numbers and donation funds. It was almost too confusing to have occurred from merely poor bookkeeping. I called Hallie.

"Hey Diana," she answered on the third ring. "What's up?"

"Some of these charity funds, I can't figure out how to organize them."

"The third drawer from the top, right?"

I checked. "Right."

"I would ignore it. Its been a pain in the rear end ever since I got here and before. My boss, Jeroh Zacherias usually handles that one anyway. But if you want to try and tackle it, go ahead. Your call."

"Thanks." I hung up, and took a long, luxurious stretch. One of the luxuries in having the privacy of an actual office instead of a cubicle. It wasn't a hard decision to make. I had faced far more daunting tasks than a stupid pile of paperwork. It would take maybe an hour, no more. By then, I'd have it in the computer system and move to something else. Should be simple.

Jeroh Zacherias was surprised to see an incoming call on his digital phone's readout from Hallie Greene. It wasn't that they never talked, but Hallie was such a capable professional that she rarely needed assistance from anyone, even her own boss.

He picked up the phone from his desk, casually putting it to his ear. "Hello, Hallie," he greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, I just called to run something by you. I just got a new assistant, Diana Prince."

"I heard. Wayne put her in, right?"

"Yeah. Anyway, she's doing organizational stuff now, and I let her try and do Drawer Number 3."

Jeroh's breath caught in his throat. That was a problem. A big problem for him, anyway. "I thought no one was interested in sorting that one out," he stammered.

"Yeah, until now. Cheer up, this outta seriously lighten your workload."

"No, mine-mine is fine. In fact tell that assistant of yours to just work on something else. It's her first day, right? Wouldn't want to get her in over her head, after all."

"If you say so." Hallie's tone indicated that she found the request a little odd, but he didn't think she was suspicious. Yet.

"Listen Hallie, I have to go. Just reassign Ms. Prince, OK. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

He hung up, his mind already assessing how best to handle damage control. Hopefully, the new assistant hadn't had time to look too deep into the files. A cursory glance would have revealed nothing but a deeper examination would raise some interesting questions.

Such as where thousands of dollars a week in unaccounted for donations had disappeared to. Jeroh knew the answer of course, since he was the one the one who had funneled the money into his own bank account. Quite a lucrative side business, but also a very illegal one. It had been stupid not to just destroy the files, but he'd been safe in the knowledge that if anyone new started showing interest he could take action then ahead of time. It was just plain bad luck that Wayne had whisked this new girl in too fast for anyone to react and that she had taken in interest in the files.

So Jeroh leaned back in his chair, tapping his thumbs together-a nervous tic he'd developed in childhood. Only one question really remained.

What was he going to do about Diana Prince?

_Bruce_

"You must be lost, Artemis."

I smiled at the way that she jumped at my voice. An amateur could have snuck up behind her but that didn't make her shocked expression any less priceless.

She quickly schooled her features however into a mask indignation. "No, Batman, Im quite aware of where I am."

"This is my city, Artemis. Leave."

Her laughter was cruel. "Well, You must have drawn the short straw to get a dump like this," she retorted. "But I'm not here to sightsee. A certain metahuman with light-manipulation abilities has been spotted several times in Gotham. I'm tracking him."

"Why?"

"Because that is my job, both as an emissary to Man's pitiful world and as a member of your Justice League. To catch criminals. I honestly don't give a damn as to whether or not that annoys you."

I said nothing, I merely stared-my eyes boring into her like diamond drills. It only took a few seconds for her to force her gaze elsewhere. "When Prizm ventures into your city, then by all means, hunt him," I said. "But Gotham is off limits. Especially to someone like you who has no idea what they're doing. A kindergartener could have spotted your little rooftop hiding place and you don't know Gotham at all. If you did, you would be in the business district where Prizm would most likely show up. You're a liability, Artemis, and that is the one thing I cannot allow. Now I'm going to say this once more. Get. Out."

She glared daggers at me, but I could see her resolve crumbling. "I will leave," she said. "But this is not over. Not by a long shot."

I watched her fly off. At least we agreed on something."

After checking to make sure that Batman was very far behind (Hera knew what kind of eerie bat-hearing he had), Artemis activated the communication link embedded in her left earlobe and masterfully disguised to look like an earring.

"Artemis," said her contact on the other end. "Report."

"I have found no sign of Diana, although I do believe she is in Gotham City."

"Then why did you not hunt her down, Artemis of the Hunt?" the voice asked mockingly.

"I encountered Batman. Somehow, he knew I had entered Gotham. He demanded that I leave."

"Does he knew why you were there in the first place?"

"No, I told him that I had followed a criminal there."

"And he believed you?"

"Yes."

Her liaison paused contemplatively. "Something will have to be done about this 'Batman'," he finally said. "Too often, he has interfered with our objectives."

"Do you want me to kill him?"

"No, not yet. But continue to search for Diana. It is imperative that I know where she is. Preferably in a grave."

Artemis smiled darkly. "Consider it done."


	4. Chapter 4

_Bruce_

There is a certain art to fighting the Joker. I've done it more times than I care to remember, and even I have no idea how his mind works. The last psychologist that tried to probe too deeply into his psyche . . .well, she wears a red and black jester's outfit and calls herself Harley Quinn now. Still, I've learned valuable lessons in the past about engaging with this man, arguably the deadliest criminal in Gotham. Expect the unexpected.

Harley was not unexpected. My sources had told me within the hour when the two had revived a relationship that epitomized love-hate. And so with all of the Joker's mistreatment of her, Harley was still madly (in her own demented way) in love with the clown.

The fact that the two were back together was not what worried me though. They had always broken up and gotten back together on a nearly daily basis, such was the nature of their twisted relationship. No, it was the new toy they'd brought with them that was ruining my day . . .

I darted across the narrow ledge of one of Gotham's skyscrapers, grappling line already aimed and pointed. Far below on the streets, I could hear the Joker's maniacal laughter as he brought his brand-new Hyperion Missile Launcher to bear. The hook of my line had just reached the ledge of the adjacent building when the Joker fired, launching two deadly three-foot-long missiles at me.

Luckily for me, he lacked experience or I would have died. Simple as that. As it was, his aim was just far enough off that instead of incinerating me, the shockwave from the blast just slammed into me, sending me across the street and into the window of another building.

"Ooooh, pretttty," cooed Harley Quinn from he ground, her stringent voice piercing the fog in my mind. I heard a violent smacking sound and then another sound from Harley, this time a cry of pain.

"Oh, shut up," snapped the Joker. Then in a complete mood reversal, he said wistfully, "what would really make it pretty is those pointy little ears of his a second before my dear friend Hyperion reduces him to his component particles!"

Gingerly, I rose to my feet feeling tenderly on my side where superheated glass had pierced the Kevlar in my armor. More scars to add to my impressive collection. Cautiously, I looked out the window.

To see the Joker staring right up at me, a twisted facsimile of a smile on his face. "Hey Batface" he yelled, swinging the portable missile launcher up on his shoulder. "Catch!"

It was sure death to remain in that window office eight stories up. That much I knew. I also knew that I couldn't run out into the hallway in time to avoid the blast. So I took Option C.

I jumped out of the window, fishtailing into a dive that carried me straight down at breakneck speed. I saw one of the missiles zoom up about four feet to my right, then the other came, missing me by only the smallest margin as it zoomed past, straight up into the building.

It isn't very easy to think straight when free-falling. Your body wants to panic as it descends toward certain doom. Even all of my considerable training had not eliminated that basic instinct completely, and in my already-weakened state, I barely had the presence of mind to do two things.

The first was to activate the harness hidden inside of my cape, turning it into a makeshift parachute. All of the air flew from my lungs as the air resistance viciously halted me to a stop, the ground that had been rushing toward me now only gradually closer.

The second thing was my gas pellets. Each about an inch in diameter, they individually contained enough tear gas to put down a prison riot. I reached into that compartment, intending to withdraw only two. But that was when the falling debris from the twin explosions the missiles had caused did their damage. One bit of shrapnel tore right through my cape, twisting me suddenly to one side in midair and causing all of the gas balls to fall an instant before I landed.

I felt a few ribs give way when I hit the ground, sending sharp stabs of pain up my side. It was all I could to not to gasp for breath, in which case I would end up taking in a lungful of tear gas.

I could hear the Joker and his whimsical sidekick coughing violently, taken off guard by the events of the past two seconds. Still, I needed to get out of there and fast. So I reached into the control switch on my utility belt and pressed the proper switch.

Lungs burning, I nevertheless managed to rejoice at the sight of the bright headlights piercing the fog of tear gas. Like a horse to its master, the Batmobile automatically drove up right beside me, extending a ramp out of the side that I painfully used to crawl in. Only when the door was sealed did I dare let myself breathe.

"Destination?" inquired the Batmobile's interactive navicomputer.

I peered out of the tinted windows and saw no trace of either Joker or Harley Quinn. I wanted to give chase but couldn't, at least not without knowing the full extent of my injuries.

I leaned back my left hand going to my right side. "Wayne Manor."

"Not one of the prouder days of the Bat, I assume," commented Alfred wryly as he applied the last of the dressing to the lacerations I'd received in the battle.

"Not a single one of my sources told me Joker had access to that kind of firepower," I growled, resisting the urge to sit up. I'd already made that mistake once and blacked out from the pain. "Hyperion Missile Launchers are just now going through government red tape for approval in combat use. Getting one out on the streets should be virtually impossible."

"A bit ironic, isn't it?" mused Alfred. "beaten by a weapon your own company designed."

"WayneTech designed the Hyperion as an all purpose anti-transport weapon. You're supposed to shoot it at enemy tanks or helicopters, not people."

Alfred methodically rinsed the blood off of his hands in the washbasin and then turned back around, his eyes widening. I wondered briefly why, but then noticed that his eyes were focused on something past myself.

"Don't hurt yourself turning around," said Diana's voice from the cave entrance. "Its me."

I said nothing. _Why wasn't she in bed?_ I wondered, hearing her soft but strong footsteps descend the stairs and approach.

She came into my line of sight, and I saw a brief expression of surprise cross her face. "What happened?" she asked

"Just another night's work," I said.

She looked at Alfred. "What happened?" she asked again.

"Oh, well, Master Wayne had an unfortunate run-in with a tankbuster missile is all. Believe it or not, he'll be in tiptop shape by tomorrow morning with naught but another scar to add to his impressive collection.

Diana pursed her lips, looking down at me with an expression I couldn't even begin to identify. "How did you get these," she asked. I wondered what she meant until I felt a cool finger trace its way across a set of three long, thin scars that circled around my left shoulder.

"Those?" I smiled a bit at the memory. "Got them from Catwoman one night a few years back."

"Oh," said Diana coolly, withdrawing her hand. I briefly wondered why, and then realized what she must have assumed.

"She was trying to steal a diamond and I happened to run into her on patrol as she was making her escape. I stopped her, but not before she got a good swing at me with those claws of hers," I explained.

Diana nodded. "Sometimes I forget that you're not invulnerable," she acknowledged.

"As does Master Wayne," interjected Alfred, turning around from cleaning off his various medical utensils.

A thoughtful look entered Diana's eyes. "What about Nightwing or Robin?" she asked suddenly. "Why aren't they here to help you?"

Sensitive issue there. I saw Alfred wince at the innocent question, knowing how much I liked to avoid that topic. Nightwing was off in another city called Bludhaven and our relationship was strained at best. And Robin was off at a prestigious private school. His superhero days were definitely on hiatus for the time being.

"It's a long story," I decided to answer, hoping she didn't push the issue.

She didn't. She just looked down at me with that same unidentifiable expression, and I wished I could tell what she was thinking.

I never got the chance to ask. Before I could do so, the twin tones of the doorbell sounded off.

Alfred sighed. "Well, Master Wayne, it would appear you have a visitor."

Diana looked pointedly down at me. "You aren't exactly dressed for company," she said. All of which I very well knew.

"Who is it?" I asked Alfred, who had already moved to the computer monitor. A few skillful keystrokes and he had accessed the video feed from one of the manor's many perimeter cameras.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that Police Comissioner Gordon?" asked Diana.

"Yes." I tried to sit up again. It felt like I was being filleted from the inside out, but ignoring the pain, I managed to get into a sitting position.

"Bruce, you shouldn't," Diana began, worry creeping into her voice.

I tried to make a dismissive retort, but thanks to the pain, it came out as a rushed, incomprehensible string of sound. I waited, took a few deep breaths, and then said, "I have to. There's only one thing he could be here to talk about. Alfred, get my clothes."

_Diana_

"Who are you?" was Commissioner Gordon's brusque question the instant I opened the door. I could already see him peering over my shoulder as he stepped in, managing to subtly push right past me. The main room was empty of course, as Alfred was still getting Bruce ready. Somehow, I had ended up with the job of entertaining the man while the other two were busy.

I opened my mouth to speak, but not before the Commissioner shoved his way past me. Not rudely, just purposefully. I was already beginning to see what made him an effective Commissioner.

Once inside, he turned back to me, his mouth, a grim line under his gray moustache, turned into a frown and his eyebrows furrowed. "Who are you?" he repeated, "and where is Bruce Wayne?"

I took a deep breath. "Hi, my name is Diana," I began cordially. "Diana Prince. Would you like to have a seat?"

When he made no move to do just that, I continued, thinking that Bruce had better get up here, grievously injured or not. "Well, Bruce is in the process of getting ready," I said by way of explanation. "He should be here any time now."

Gordon gave me an odd look, one that I was not yet able to figure out. Then his eyes drifted past me and onto Bruce, who had just shown up in the doorway.

The man could clean up well, I had to give him that. Fresh new casual clothing and the expert manipulations of Alfred had transformed him back into the carefree billionaire playboy Gotham knew and loved. Of course, I was still able to see the slight limp in his step as he walked toward us, and that smile of his was a bit too bright to be completely genuine.

"Commissioner Gordon," greeted Bruce, extending his hand. "What an unexpected surprise."

Gordon shook his hand, but was obviously unimpressed. "Save the bull for the cameras, Bruce," he said.

Bruce's smile didn't waver. "Very well. Please, sit down."

Gordon complied, but sent me a withering glance. Perhaps your new . . .friend should go home now."

"I'm staying with Bruce for the time being," I said.

"Oh, is that so?" Gordon replied a speculative look on his face. He turned back to Bruce. "This is about business, Bruce. Yours in particular. Pleasure can go in the other room.

I scowled, insulted until I realized that there was little else Gordon could assume, especially given Bruce's reputation.

A flash of annoyance sparked in Bruce's eyes. "She can stay," he said. "She's a high-level employee in my company."

Gordon shrugged, deciding not to fight that particular battle. "So what's going on?" he asked, changing the subject. "Because this has really been one interesting day. First a double homicide this morning, then reports of Joker sightings connected to deadly explosions in the financial district-one of them involving Batman. Joker's always been screwloose and prone to escaping prison-no surprise there. Imagine my shock though at realizing that not only was he in possession of a military-grade portable missile launcher, but that it was manufactured by Wayne Enterprises. Care to explain how that happened?"

I expected Bruce to squirm under such a direct inquiry, but he merely sighed. "I do deeply regret the incident and the fact that Joker was able to acquire such a highly dangerous weapon. As recent as it is, I don't have anything concrete for you yet, although my best guess would be that one of the shipments failed and somehow the merchandise was discovered by the Joker.

Commissioner Gordon sighed. "Your merchandise is going to end up costing this city millions."

"And rest assured, I will more than compensate for the damages, Commissioner."

"I don't envy you. You'll be neck-high in civil suits by tomorrow morning."

"I'm well aware of the repercussions," Bruce said, his voice a bit more strained now. The normal Bruce routine was starting to slip.

Gordon nodded. "I want details in the next 24 hours as well," he said. "And don't be surprised if some boys from the government start pokin' around."

"Understood, Commissioner."

"I certainly hope so," the older man said, standing. On his way out, he turned back and said, "You should get some rest, Bruce. You don't look so good."

The instant the door closed, Bruce collapsed onto the nearest couch, like a marionette whose strings had just been severed. His head lolled back, and I rushed over to make sure he wasn't going unconscious or anything.

"Master Bruce," exclaimed Alfred from the next room. Five long strides later, the dapper English butler had joined me in helping Bruce into a normal sitting position.

"I'm fine," said Bruce his eyes unable to focus on either one of us and his usually charming baritone weak and raspy.

"I don't think so," said Alfred, lifting Bruce's jacket to reveal that blood had stained a good portion of the white material. "Seems as if my hasty medical work wasn't sufficient," he murmured. "I'll have to redo most of this I'm afraid."

Bruce gave his best nod and then stood up, shakily. He flashed a fatalistic smile. "Lets do it.

Some hours later, Alfred reemerged from one of the Batcave entrances.

"How is he?" I asked from the couch, putting down the crossword puzzle I'd been working on.

"Bruce is fine," Alfred assured me. "Will be anyway. Right now, he's sleeping like a baby."

I thought about how events had unfolded that day. The expert, practiced way that Alfred had handled Bruce's injury. "You do this a lot, don't you?" I asked.

"Pardon?"

"You have to fix Bruce up on a regular basis," I clarified.

"Almost daily," Alfred said, taking a seat on the sofa across from mine. "Such is the nature of my employer's nocturnal activities."

"Do you ever wonder if he should think about retiring?" I wondered. "Before he finds an enemy that really does kill him?"

Alfred shook his head. "I don't know how much Master Bruce has confided in you about his past, his boyhood, but let me assure you that he is driven by something you or I can barely begin to comprehend. Batman is every bit as much his identity as Bruce Wayne is, and he will not forsake that responsibility until it is physically impossible for him to continue."

I did know Bruce's past. Bits and pieces anyway. One of my most cherished memories is of the day he confided enough in me to share that part of his soul with me. And Alfred was right. He could no more stop being Batman than he could stop being Bruce Wayne.

But that didn't make his current situation right.

"I think its safe to say by now that Wayne isn't getting any more surprise visits," said the woman tapping the button on her headset that switched the built in thermal imaging filter off.

Prizm nodded, his long hair sparkling reddish hues now. Impatience. "I agree. I'm just waiting to see if the butler's going to leave. Having our target alone would be nice."

"In that case, lets just get this over with. Our employer said nothing about collateral damage."

Prizm chuckled. "Cold-blooded woman. Very well. Trigger the device."

And she did.

_Diana_

The loud crack bang, like a bolt of lightning, was the first indication that something was wrong. The fact that every light in the mansion subsequently flickered out pretty much confirmed that position.

"What the devil," Alfred exclaimed. I heard him get up only to crash into an armchair with an astonished yelp.

"Do you normally have blackouts here?" I wondered aloud, taking heed from Alfred's folly and staying put.

He probably would have answered me were it not for the loud explosion near the front door. Or rather, what had used to be the front the door before it had been blown to splinters. In the moonlight, I could see two figures silhouetted in the doorway, dust and smoke still settling. The outlines in both figures arms were unmistakable.

I dived for Alfred and tackled both of us up and over the couch he was sitting on just as the shooting started. The rat-at-tat-at of the automatic weapons was so deafening I could barely concentrate.

"Dear God," breathed Alfred, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"By all means, pray," I whispered. "But right now, we have to move. Right now."

"Yes, of course," Alfred said tersely.

"On the count of three . . ."

In the darkness, I was just able to make out his head nodding affirmation.

"One, two, three!"

We sprinted from behind our makeshift hiding place and toward the next couch. Unable to see, I tripped on the leg of a card table, turning my forward momentum into a ridiculous log roll. Nevertheless, I had reached my objective, for all the good it would do myself or Alfred. Neither of us was armed, and all of my powers were gone. I didn't even have my bulletproof bracelets. We were screwed, as Flash might have said. I would die without knowing why I had died or who had killed me. It was almost ironic.

And, something just short of a miracle happened. The lights turned on. All of them. And being the extravagant mansion that Wayne Manor is, there were a lot of lights. It was blinding, being assaulted with so much light at one time. Splotches of purple danced in front of my eyes and it took a few seconds of furious blinking for my vision to adjust.

Which is when I noticed something very important. Our attackers were wearing night vision eyewear. Very effective in the dark, especially if your quarry lacks the same equipment. However, once that darkness gets turned into bright light, that advantage is quickly nullified, maybe even turned into a handicap. I for one was not about to let this opportunity slip away from me.

It took me all of two seconds to dart across the ten or so feet that separated me from the nearest attacker. I may have lost my powers, but my Amazon training was still perfectly intact, as I demonstrated to myself by executing a flawless sweep kick that knocked the assailant's feet right out from under him. Or her, I revised once I heard the quite feminine yelp of pain and surprise.

I reached for her gun hand, just getting a grasp on it when her elbow came smashing into my face. Stars danced in front of my vision, but I stubbornly refused to let go.

The gun went off, coming dangerously close to turning the woman's partner into Swiss cheese. Fed up, I delivered a devastating head-butt to the woman's nose, the bridge of her nose giving way and unleashing a torrent of blood. She still would not surrender the gun. So I hit her again. And again. Smashing her nose to a bloody pulp. Finally, after maybe the fifth blow, her grip slackened. Drained, I grabbed the gun and rolled over onto my back.

To find myself staring up into the barrel of a handgun. The woman's partner. He looked familiar somehow, although it was definitely a face I would have remembered if I had seen it before. Handsome, with eyes that seemed to change color constantly and long, luxurious hair that shimmered in the same way.

"Quite the strong one, aren't you Diana Prince?" he said in a strangely melodic voice. "What's your secret? Pilates? Yoga?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't. There was a gun in my face and I was completely powerless to do anything but sit and wait for the bullet to come.

Except for Alfred, bless his heart. In a move that was surprisingly spry for a man of his age, the butler, leaped across the room, snatched a trophy from a shelf on the wall, and flung it with unerring accuracy, the heavy object solidly striking my attacker's gun hand.

"Be careful, Diana," shouted Alfred. "His name is Prizm, he's a metahuman."

It took a few seconds for me to register what he was saying, because years and years of combat experience took over. Knowing that the gun was too far out of reach for me to grab it, I settled for the next best thing, kicking it as hard as I could.

Prizm swore as he saw the gun skitter across the carpet and under a sofa. Then he turned his blazing eyes on me and with a snarl of rage drew back for a blow.

I wouldn't give him the opportunity. Coiling as much tension as I could in my back, I lashed out, exploding with as much force as possible. My foot caught him under the chin, sending his head snapping back, followed by the rest of his body.

Then he used his powers. I had barely rolled back into a mobile position when the entire world around me became one complete universe of searing, bright light. So bright that even when I shut my eyes tightly and threw my hand up as a shield, I could see the blood vessels in my eyelids and the bones that made up my right hand.

He could have finished both Alfred and I off right then, but instead, he chose to ran, the last I saw of him being a flash of shimmering multicolored hair disappearing through the ruined front door. I didn't mind much. My sight was still recovering and that brief foray into combat without my former abilities was more than enough of a workout for one day.

"Diana, are you alright?" Alfred asked rushing over to where I was sitting, concern permeating his voice and expression.

I nodded. "I'm fine Alfred." He offered his hand and I accepted, rising to my feet slowly but surely. For the first time I was able to survey the room. Or rather, what was left of it. "Is Bruce still sleeping?" I wondered aloud.

"Why yes, I believe he is."

I patted Alfred on the back. "Well, when he wakes up, you're the one who's explaining all this to him."

Alfred frowned. "Why? Where are you going?"

"To bed. I'm tired, I had a long day at my new job, and a couple of crazy people just tried to kill . . ." I trailed off at the realization that struck me then. In all the excitement, I hadn't noticed that Prizm or whatever his name was had forgotten to bring his partner along for the escape. In fact, she was still on the floor, crumpled in an unconscious heap.

Alfred smiled when he saw where my gaze was directed. "Excellent," he acknowledged. "Perhaps you could watch over her while I awaken Master Bruce."

I looked down at the prone form of a woman who had just tried to kill me. "Don't worry," I said. "She's not going anywhere."

After waiting three hours, fifteen minutes, and twenty-seven seconds (he had been counting), Jeroh Zacherias received the phone call he was waiting for.

Snatching the phone off of its cradle, he jammed it to one ear, pulse racing. "Tell me you were successful," he commanded.

There was no immediate answer, the first indication that something was wrong. "Prizm?"

"I'm here, Jeroh."

"Did you complete the job?"

"No."

It was like a physical blow that slammed Zacherias back into his chair. He blinked once. Twice. Trying to cope with the news. "Ex-explain," he finally managed through a dry mouth.

"You provided me with inaccurate information. And so the operation was unsuccessful," said Prizm simply.

"What!" Jeroh exclaimed, his voice rising. Enough time had elapsed that his shock and bewilderment had drifted into anger. "Listen, you lying piece of-" He stopped just before losing control. Voice still trembling, he nevertheless managed to continue on in a more polite tone. "The information I gave you was flawless. Down to the layout of the room itself."

"Correction," said Prizm. "Your information was incomplete. I had no idea that these crap layouts you gave us only covered a small fraction of the mansion. Lara and I went into operation assuming that we had knocked out the facility's only power connections. Only to discover that the Wayne Manor has its own electrical supply, more than one fully equipped generator, I would say. That was an advantage we counted on thanks to your information, and barely two seconds went by before it was gone."

Zacherias scowled. "Is that supposed to be some kind of excuse?" he asked. "With all of your expertise . . .with all of the _money_ I'm paying you, you couldn't handle a spoiled playboy, his butler, and a damn secretary?"

There was a pause at the other end. "That butler," said Prizm at last, "was no ordinary butler. And the woman most definitely was no mere secretary. There was a grace in her movements that belied some sort of . . .training. A martial artist, perhaps. . ."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" wondered Zacherias sarcastically. The woman spends a few hours in the gym and all of a sudden a meta-human can't kill her?"

On the other side, Prizm was left speechless. What made this situation especially unpleasant was that he had nothing by way of a defense for himself. How could he reasonably explain professionals such as himself and his partner being beaten in such a way? He couldn't.

"Let me speak to Lara," Zacherias said at last.

"Feel free. If you can get to her. I was forced to go on without her, so I imagine the woman is en route to the nearest jail as of right now."

The venom on the other end was palpable. "It will not be easy for me to correct your idiotic mistakes. As for you, you have one more chance, Prizm. Fail again, and you'll see just how miserable I can make your existence."

Prizm knew that Zacherias' threat was exaggerated . . .but not completely. Besides, he now had a personal stake in this as well. His reputation, earned hard over the years, was at stake. "I won't," he said simply.

"Please see that you don't."


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce 

I've had worse days. Take two years ago, for example, when Bane temporarily crippled me. Or last year, when I was accused of murdering a Gotham socialite and sent to prison. Or the day Robin – the first one – left in the heat of one of our frequent arguments for the neighboring town of Bludhaven.

Today wasn't that bad, but it was close, I reflected that night as I surveyed the damage that two mysterious attackers had left in their wake after attempting to kill Diana and Alfred in the middle of my living room. Or rather, what had used to be my living room; it now looked like a scene from the aftermath of a tornado. I would definitely need to buy a new door, and as riddled with bullets as the rest of the room was, there was very little remaining that could still be replaced. As if the Hyperion Missile Launcher fiasco wasn't enough—I would now have to explain to the Commissioner (not to mention the press) why someone had so brazenly attacked my home.

Diana looked beautiful. An odd observation to making at a time like this, I immediately thought. But for some reason, despite her mussed up hair, complete lack of makeup, and weary expression, I felt a surge of attraction so strong, I had to clench my fists and hold my breath for a count.

"What did you put in my IV?" I asked Alfred who happened to be standing next to me.

"Only what was necessary to keep you sedated and rested," he assured me. Great, I thought. On top of everything else, I've got a drug in my system that's playing havoc with my libido.

If Diana noticed any of this, she didn't show it. She was busy binding the woman that had been left behind by Prizm after the attack.

"Sirens," Alfred noted as the wail of police cars grew louder. "They'll be here soon."

I said nothing, running over in my head how to proceed once dealing with Gotham's Finest.

"What shall we tell them happened here"

Because I had no good answer, I ignored the question and moved to Diana's side. "I don't suppose the woman had any identification on her," I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not so much as a library card," replied Diana, gesturing at the unconscious woman. "Even an amateur wouldn't make that bad of a mistake."

"True," I conceded. I helped her to her feet, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Alfred tells me you fought superbly," I told her. Diana's head turned to Alfred, who sagely nodded agreement.

"Indeed," he confirmed. "Under the circumstances, your quick thinking was most impressive and probably saved both of our lives."

Diana acknowledged the compliment with a smile, and then turned back to me. "What about Jane Doe here?" she asked. "Should we just leave her to the police?"

I shook my head. "The police won't get a thing out of her and I need answers as soon as possible. Alfred, see if you can't find her some . . . _accommodations_ in the Cave." I glanced meaningfully at him, making sure he understood me full meaning.

"Consider it done," replied Alfred, effortlessly lifting the woman up and over his shoulder. He departed quickly to the Pendulum Clock entrance, disappearing behind the false wall.

"They're going to want to question you," I told Diana matter-of-factly.

"I'll just tell them the truth."

"No you won't," I corrected. "This is what you are going to tell them . . ."

"Nice place ya got here, rich boy," muttered Harvey Bullock, his lit cigarette bobbing up and down with every word. He was one of the senior officers of the GCPD under Commissioner Gordon. Apparently, he also didn't like me very much.

"Shut up, Bullock," muttered Renee Montoya, an attractive Hispanic woman in her early thirties or so. Aside from Gordon and Bullock, she was probably the member of the GCPD I'd had the most experience with during my time as Batman. Usually, she was a very patient, observant woman, but there was an aggressive edge in her voice and demeanor now.

It hadn't taken long for the Gotham City Police Department to arrive. In fact, I'd barely had enough to brief Alfred and Diana on what they would be testifying to the police and make sure that the captured intruder was securely held until I could deal with her. Seeing that no one was in immediate danger, Gordon sent most of the squad cars back out into Gotham where they were most needed, but he, Bullock, Montoya, and a handful of officers and criminalists remained to collect statements and figure out what had taken place.

"Mr. Wayne," began Montoya, focusing on me. "I would appreciate it if you told us everything that happened so we can move this process forward as fast as possible."

Some of my speechlessness was faked, a necessary affectation for me to employ in my Bruce Wayne persona. Some of it was real though. Most of the contact that I have with the GCPD occurs at night and while I'm wearing a Bat costume. Montoya, Bullock—all of them are scared to death of Batman. Bruce Wayne, however, is a spoiled billionaire playboy with barely enough brainpower to tie his own shoes. The disparity between how they addressed me in each of my identities took some getting used to.

"C'mon Brucie-boy, it ain't exactly rocket science," Bullock growled. "Just tell us what happened . . . sometime today, if you can manage."

"OK," I said. "I was watching TV in my bedroom when the attack happened. Well, actually, I think I dozed off once or twice. I know I had been sleeping when the blackout kind of startled me from my sleep."

"Blackout?" asked the Commissioner.

"Yes. All of the electricity was knocked out for a few minutes or so during the attack."

"Were you harmed at all?" Montoya inquired.

"No, in fact I never came into contact with whoever broke into my home. Only my butler Alfred and this woman," I pointed to Diana, "an employee of mine, saw the criminals."

Gordon turned to Diana and Alfred, both of whom had, up to now, been silent. "We'll have to ask each of you some questions individually," said Gordon, motioning to Bullock and Montoya who promptly led Diana and Alfred off, leaving Gordon alone with me.

I lowered my head, looking him squarely in the eye. "I'm sure that what with all the recent events happening lately, you can appreciate my desire to have this matter resolved as quickly and quietly as possible," I said.

The look he gave me was almost patronizing. "Bruce, someone broke into your home, knocked out all of your electricity, and used your living room for a firing range. Your butler, your employee, and most of all you are lucky to be alive. Given the circumstances, your little PR problems are the least of my concern. The best way you can speed the process along is to cooperate fully with me and my men."

"I have and I will continue to do so."

"Good. So do you have any idea why anyone would want to kill you?" Gordon asked. "Gotten any death threats lately? New corporate takeovers that stepped on a few feet?"

I shook my head. "Not that I'm aware of. Personally, I think it was nothing more than a failed robbery."

"You noticed anything missing?"

"Perhaps they were scared off before they were able to grab what it was they were looking for."

Gordon looked dubious as he surveyed the bullet-riddled room. "Most petty thieves don't use explosives and assault rifles," said.

I shrugged. "Do you have a better explanation?"

* * *

It took two hours for the police to finish with Diana, Alfred, and I and thoroughly photograph and record the crime scene. Diana looked exhausted and even Alfred, perpetually active as he was, seemed to be a little bit worn out from the excessive questioning Bullock and Montoya had put them each through respectively.

"I told them what you wanted me to," Diana assured me once the last officer had left. "Although I'm a bit surprised that you would have me lie outright to a police officer."

Alfred cleared his throat. "There are some things that Commissioner Gordon, well-intentioned as he and his subordinates may be, is incapable of dealing with. This is not a slight to him or even the police department, but rather a fact. The police in Gotham are notoriously inept in dealing with lawbreakers of this caliber, which is why Master Bruce's services are so badly needed. Given this, it is probably better that they believe it was a simple robbery or attempted kidnapping. No need to mention that there was a professional assassin and a meta-human involved."

I watched Diana carefully as she processed this, trying to gauge whether or not she understood my reasons. Her face betrayed nothing, but she let it drop without another word on the subject.

* * *

Diana 

That morning in the office, I was something of a mini-celebrity. Apparently, despite Bruce's efforts to the contrary, the press had gotten the gist of the past night's occurrences. You couldn't tune into a news station with hearing about the mysterious attacks on Wayne Manor that threatened the life of him, his butler, and 'a female companion,' said with a sly innuendo that almost made me blush when I saw the report for myself on the office monitor. Even with my rudimentary knowledge of the media, I knew that it wouldn't be long before my name, picture, and other information were included in the developing news story. I hoped that Bruce had done a thorough job of falsifying my background.

As for who the attackers were, I saw speculation ranging from terrorist to environmental groups, although the most popular theory so far was that it was simply a foiled kidnapping attempt.

Let them believe that, I thought, sitting down at my desk. Bruce was undoubtedly extracting the truth from the woman left behind at the scene. That said, dealing with her and her friend nearly paled in comparison to dealing with office gossip.

Myna Harrison, a reasonably attractive typist in the office with short, auburn hair, green eyes, and a splattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, was the first of many to ask me outright if Bruce and I were lovers, to put it nicely.

"No," I said forcefully, ducking my head to hide the fact that my cheeks were starting to warm again. The bluntness of her question (which was in reality far more crude than my version) had taken me aback.

"So why were you at his house?" asked Myna, her Southern accent peeking through the Midwestern one she was obviously trying to replace it with.

"Because I live there."

The words had only just left my mouth when I realized that the entire office was silent and looking at me expectantly.

So I cleared my throat, slid my chair back, and stood, addressing everyone around me (hopefully once and for all).

"I'm sure that all of you have heard that there was a kidnapping attempt on Wayne Manor and that I was there at the time," I began.

Nods from everyone.

"Well, that's true," I continued. "However, it was in a completely professional setting, and Mr. Wayne and myself have a completely professional relationship. I'm staying at his manor until I am able to get a place of my own. It's as simple as that."

And so I sat back down, hoping that would be the end of it.

* * *

Prizm strode through the front doors of the Wayne Enterprises office building with even more ease than he'd expected. Security was good, no doubt about that. But cameras and personnel tended not to notice you when you could bend all ambient light around your entire body, becoming essentially invisible. It was an illusion that was extremely difficult to maintain, especially given the number of people in the building. However, failure in this was not an option. Jeroh may not have been thinking clearly when he told Prizm to kill Diana Prince in the middle of a crowded office building, but that was the order nonetheless. And even Prizm could appreciate the precariousness of their position every second Ms. Prince was allowed to live. For all they knew, she had already discovered the illegal profits on Jeroh's part and was planning to contact the authorities. And if Jeroh went down, so did Prizm and a number of even seedier organizations and 'families'. Yes, it was best for everyone all around that Diana Prince had an unfortunate accident very soon.

Walking into a thankfully empty elevator, Prizm palmed the small device he would use to kill Ms. Prince. No larger than an iPod, it was capable of directing and broadcasting certain frequencies that would cause the brain to literally go haywire and induce any number of lethal complications. A terminal coma would do, as long as she didn't talk. After the job was completed though, he and Jeroh would have a serious talk about leaving incriminating evidence lying around.

The elevator door closed with a ding. Taking a deep breath, Prizm leaned back against the wall, thankful that he could stop creating the illusion, if only for a brief period of time. It wouldn't be long now . . .

* * *

Bruce 

I don't believe in torturing others to get information from them. It would certainly be easy, and perhaps even justifiable in some circumstances. But it is a line I refuse to cross.

Besides, I've discovered a much more effective technique. Fear. Allowing the imagination of one's enemy to devise an outcome a dozen times more hellish than what one is actually capable of delivering.

This woman had no idea that she was still on Bruce Wayne's property (albeit several levels below ground). The illumination in the Batcave was dimmed for maximum effect. My work was about to begin.

"Why did you attack Bruce Wayne's estate?" I asked her, lowering my voice several octaves. The question echoed eerily around the cave.

Sitting down on a simple wooden chair in front of me, trembling from fear, it was hard to imagine that this was a professional assassin.

"I was hired."

"By whom?"

"I can't answer that," she said, a bit of defiance peeking through. "He would kill me."

"You should worry about your present situation far more than the possible future."

She lowered her head. Her shoulders trembled. I wondered at first if she was crying, at least until I heard the soft laughter emanating from her hunched figure. "Please," she said. "You're not going to kill me, and we both know it."

Classic.

"Your name is Lara," I told her matter-of-factly. "Lara Prahn. You are wanted in seven different countries and several of the triads, among others, would very much like you dead. I do not kill, but what would happen to you after being abandoned in a Hong Kong alley is not on my conscience."

That threat too was one that I would never carry out. But she didn't know that. What she did know was that if I made good on my threat, she would be dead by tomorrow. The triads don't take kindly to people who assassinate ranking members.

"Who hired you?" I asked her again.

"A man, he works at Bruce Wayne's company."

It was hard for me to conceal my surprise. My own company. A disgruntled employee? "And he wanted you to kill Bruce Wayne?" I pressed.

She shook. "No."

"Kidnap him?"

"Not my specialty. It had nothing to do with Bruce Wayne. The woman, Diana King or something like that. He wanted her dead."

It was clear to me that her faulty memory was actually seeking the name Diana Prince. I couldn't stop the surge of anger that I felt when I heard this. But why would anyone want to kill her?

"His name," I commanded. "Tell me the man's name."

She was clearly hesitant, but information was forthcoming nevertheless. "Jeroh Zacherias."

She was telling the truth. Thermal scans in my eye lenses indicated none of the fluctuations in body mechanisms associated with lying. None of changes in pitch or tone of the voice, accelerated heart rate, anything. She was telling the truth. Jeroh and I would be having a talk very soon.

But first things first. "Why did he want her killed?"

"Some scam he was running. Skimming profits from Wayne's company or something. Diana King just popped out of nowhere one day and took a job that put her in the exact position to discover the scam. He wasn't prepared for anything like that to happen, and so, to be safe, he ordered us to eliminate her."

Jeroh was a fool. He was a fool for believing he could get away with something like this in the first place, he was a fool for hiring hit men to kill Diana, and he was certainly a fool to have given them that much incriminating information. I would see to it personally that he enjoyed the hospitality of the GCPD.

I asked her a few more questions (mostly about Prizm), still recording her answers for later analyzing. How a woman who knew as much as she did about certain people and less-than-legal organizations had survived so long I will never know.

Once I was satisfied that she had told me everything, I hacked into the Interpol database and created a few sightings of one of their most sought-after targets, Lara Prahn, in Gotham City. She would be found in an alleyway somewhere, more than willing to be taken into custody where she would at least have government protection. The Triads, after all, were notoriously brutal to people who had incurred their wrath . . .

* * *

Prizm couldn't help but smile when his unassuming target came into sight. For a woman that had nearly been killed that morning, she looked remarkably calm. No matter. In a few minutes, she would look remarkably dead.

* * *

Many apologies for the less-than-timely update (to put it lightly). I shall try to post more regularly in the future. Anyway, tell me what you think and if you have any suggestions. My apologies for any grammatical errors, as they are solely my fault, and there would certainly be many, many more were it not for my beta-reader, Kasuichi. I would like to thank her for her invaluable assistance as a beta as well as her much –needed suggestions. So thanks Kasuichi. I hope you'll be able to help me with this in the future.

Once again, feel free to R&R

-Cleric


	6. Chapter 6

Diana 

It took me several tries to get the office phone operational and three rings after that for my supervisor, Hallie Greene, to answer my call.

"Hello," she said pleasantly.

"Hi, it's Diana."

"I know," she said. Then, by way of explanation, "All the internal lines have caller ID. Anyway, what's up?"

"Actually, I wanted you to see something. You know those files I've been working on?"

"The charity ones? Diana, I thought we agreed—"

"Yes," I interrupted, "I know, but I figured I would just finish that one small job. You know, sort of like a challenge."

"And?" she prompted.

I looked back down at the financial statements arrayed across my desk. I suspected this yesterday, but had only just now confirmed it. "There's a lot of money missing."

"Missing?" Her voice sounded concerned now. "Explain, Diana."

"Well, there's money that was allocated for various charity and community service projects by Wayne Enterprises that simply vanishes in the paper trail. I really don't quite know what to make of it myself, so I was wondering if you might help me figure this out. Because as far I can figure, there are multiple thousands of dollars missing from each program."

"Hold on," said Hallie, "I'll be right down. I still think you've made a mistake, but the sooner this is cleared up, the better. Where are you?"

"My office," I told her. "I just carried the drawer labeled '3' in here."

"OK, well just wait for me down there." She paused. "Hopefully Jeroh will actually show up for work tomorrow. God knows I have twice my workload when he doesn't show up like this."

"Understood." I hung up the phone, wondering what that would mean if my suspicions turned out to be true. If that was the case, I was fairly certain Hallie was innocent (she wasn't high enough in the management system to have gotten away with funneling such large amounts of cash). Any one of her direct superiors was certainly suspect though.

Oh well, I thought, leaning back in my desk. Regardless, Bruce would take of it. He always did.

* * *

_Bruce_

"You're late," said Artemis smugly as I entered the Watchtower's Conference room.

I ignored her, taking my seat next to Superman and all of the others recently returned from their various space missions. "So tell me," I began, facing Clark. "What's so important that it required me to meet with all of you up here?"

"I can answer that question," replied an ominous voice from the side. I turned my head to see Dr. Fate sitting (or rather, hovering) in the air about seven feet to my left. I hadn't even noticed him when I came in.

"Fate," I muttered, wondering what he could possibly be doing here. Given his rather unique skills and perceptions, Dr. Fate tended to be less of a team player than even I, holed up in a monastery somewhere rehabilitating special individuals. My personal contact with the man was limited and (loathe as I am to admit it) his mystical abilities spooked even me at times.

Fate turned to me, no emotion whatsoever peeking through his faceless gold mask. "It's nice to see you again too, Batman," he replied.

"Tell him what you were telling us," prompted John, his glowing green eyes pulsing with energy.

"Ah, yes. Well, to put this simply, I have sensed certain…malicious entities at work in the mystical planes. This is nothing new, of course, but the extents to which the powers of magic are being tapped into are astounding and unprecedented."

"So basically, you feel a disturbance in the Force," Flash paraphrased.

"Yes…" said Fate hesitantly, although I had the feeling he had completely missed the pop culture reference. I glared at Flash, hopefully preventing a string of even worse follow-up jokes, and then turned back to Dr. Fate.

"Malicious entities?" I asked, frowning. His ambiguities never failed to annoy me. "Explain."

Fate spread out his hands, palms up. "I cannot," he said simply. "The power that this person or persons possess is enough to block even my strongest locating spells. They may not even be in this dimension, but the effect of their tampering can still be felt here. My guess is that if you talk to any other magic user, they will have felt this series of disturbances as well."

"Why bother?" The question came from Artemis, startling everyone including me. I turned around to find her sitting with her back slouched and her arms crossed.

"Artemis," Superman began.

She cut him off. "Correct me if I am wrong," she said, "but we were just informed by the most powerful magician in the League that some mysterious force is tampering with the magical plane."

"It's a bit more compli—" Fate began, only to be interrupted—just like Superman.

"In my view," Artemis continued, "The League has better things to do with its time than sitting around worrying about some mystical force out there that Doctor Fates here claims is causing 'disturbances.'"

Fate's voice was almost amused. "You question my honesty?"

"Of course not." There was a little too much sarcasm in her voice to be believable. "I do wonder why you felt the need to call a big meeting when—assuming there's a problem at all—you have no solutions. You can't say who this person is, where they are, how powerful they are, or what their motives are."

Doctor Fate turned a glare on her that, despite his mask, made even me feel uncomfortable. "The powers of magic are nothing to scoff at, Amazon," he said in a reprimanding tone. "The entity behind these incidences I refer has already begun to affect our dimension and the physical world we live in. That such a sorcerer even exists, one whose powers dwarf even mine, should be troubling to all of you."

"One question," said Flash. "How do you know this person's a baddie?" He glanced around, half expecting a remark telling him to stop asking stupid questions. None came; even I wanted to know the answer to that one.

"Magic is different than a sword or a hammer or any other physical tool," Fate explained. "When you tap into and manipulate its powers, the manifestation is influenced in part by your heart, your motives. Every spell cast carries with it the taint of the emotions, motives, and character of the spell caster."

"That makes no sense," said Flash.

"If you were a student of the mystical arts, it might," said Fate. "Nevertheless, be warned. I sense great menace, and I fear that your paths and that of our unknown magician will cross. Soon."

And then Fate vanished. Gone, just like that, leaving his trademark ankh symbol shimmering for a few more seconds in the empty air.

"And now you're up to speed," said Lantern. "What do you make of it?"

I turned to him. "Have the Oans picked up any strange energy signatures?" I asked.

"No, not like what Fate was talking about."

I nodded. "I have access to every satellite orbiting earth as well as hundreds of other probes in space. I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary either. Until I see something that convinces me otherwise, this is a threat that only has ramifications in the magical realm. If there is someone or something preparing to attack, then we'll have to deal with it when the time comes."

Superman nodded. "I would agree with your assessment," he said. The others, even Artemis, nodded.

Despite my words though, I was not about to ignore Dr. Fate's cryptic warning. So I began making plans to visit an old friend.

* * *

Prizm leaned against the wall, waiting for Diana to move to the left so he could get an optimum angle. His killing device would probably have some effect from where he stood if he estimated her position correctly, but he wanted a guaranteed kill.

It occurred to him then that he could just open her door, step in, and do the job if it took too long to get a good angle. He had some time, but he didn't want to risk staying in the building for too long. His light-block technique was by no means perfect, after all.

He waited ten seconds, counting them off one by one. Diana still hadn't shifted to where he wanted her. Sighing he straightened and walked to the door handle.

Then something, or rather someone, destroyed his entire plan. That she was blond and probably pretty was all he was able to determine before her hand brushed against his as they both reached for the doorknob.

"What the—!" Hallie exclaimed as her fingers hit his invisible ones she reached out. And before he could react her hand had trailed up his arm and over his shoulder, onto his chest. Her eyes went wide and he saw the telltale inhalation of air that nearly always preceded a scream. That would be extremely bad.

So in one smooth move, he grabbed her arm, twisted her around, and slid an arm around her throat, simultaneously fingering several nerve clusters in her neck. She struggled for a few moments before promptly passing out.

On a very lucky day, all of this would have simply gone on with Diana being none the wiser. This was not a lucky day. Indeed, she had now changed positions and was standing up, a shocked look on her face as she saw her friend seemingly suspended unconscious in midair. Prizm backed away, his mind whirling, only to see his reflection in the mirror, something he should not have been able to do. His concentration must have faltered—bits and pieces of him were shimmering into visibility. And if he could see this, so could Diana.

He dropped the blond woman like a dead weight and brought up the transmitter. One way or another, his assignment would be completed. A press of the button and—

CRASH! He heard the sound of breaking glass an instant before the pain of the paperweight glancing off his jaw dominated his attention. He stumbled and toppled over, his hand coming to his cheek. Diana had thrown the simple yet heavy transparent cube at him through the window!

He stood up, taking his hand away from his cheek. It was warm and sticky with blood where the paperweight's corner had cut a gash from his left cheekbone to the corner of his eye. It hurt like hell and some of the blood was running into his left eye. It was mostly with his right, then, that he saw Diana running out the door, fist cocked back. In spite of everything that had happened the previous night, Prizm still had a hard time believing she would actually punch him.

His disbelief ended when her fist connected with the underside of his chin, sending him sprawling back and into the wall

Last night had not been a fluke. This woman was trained in _something_—what he didn't know—but something damaging. Maybe she had been a marine. That might explain how she was able to do so much damage in so little time.

Shouts in the background reminded Prizm that he and Diana were not alone in the building. He'd been lucky so far in that no one had stumbled across this bizarre scene, but his luck ran out when a matronly, older woman in her fifties exited the elevator on their floor.

* * *

_Diana_

"RUN!" I screamed, frantically searching for anything I could use as a weapon against Prizm. "He'll kill you! Run and call 911!"

The other woman needed no further prompting, practically diving back into the elevator with a speed she probably hadn't enjoyed since high school. I had no idea how Prizm had located me, but it was good to know that the police would be coming soon.

My hesitation cost me. Enraged, Prizm (now fully visible) clocked me with an arcing haymaker that made me see stars momentarily. I reeled back, only to be brutally punched in the stomach. He reared back for a third blow, but this time I saw it coming. Artemis may have taken my powers, my armor, and my job, but I still had lifetimes of combat experience.

Case in point: Prizm let loose with another wild blow, one that would have ended the fight immediately if it had landed. I batted it aside just enough to let it sail harmlessly past my face, then kneed him in the one area where I have heard men do not like to be hurt.

I had heard right. One solid knee in the crotch and Prizm could barely stand, his face going white with pain. I punched him again, this time breaking the skin on my knuckles. Hopefully, if I could keep him on the defensive, he would forget about using his powers.

That was when the SWAT team arrived.

* * *

_Bruce_

The last time I visited Zatanna, Diana was turned into a pig and I was forced to sing. Neither one was going to happen this time. Especially not the latter.

She was in her dressing room, out of costume, wearing a blue terry cotton robe. Her dark hair was still wet and stringy from a recent shower, and she had a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. She still hadn't noticed me at this point. Not many people did.

"Zatanna," I said simply to get her attention.

She turned around and arched an eyebrow. "Bruce," she greeted me, a smile spreading over her face. "It's so good to see you."

"You as well," I said sincerely.

The magician nodded, clasping her hands together. "I heard about Diana," she said.

"It's not a good situation."

"I figured as much. If you see her, tell her I think that Artemis lady isn't half the Wonder Woman she was."

"If I see her, I'll tell her," I said.

She gave me a sly glance. "Am I being too naïve in assuming this is merely a pleasure call?" she asked.

"Afraid so," I said. "I was wondering what you could tell me about the magical realm."

This really got her attention. "Bruce! Don't tell me you're considering taking up sorcery."

"I'm not," I assured her. "I did, however, have an interesting meeting not too long ago. Dr. Fate was there."

Zatanna whistled. "Big leagues. What'd he say?"

"He said that he was detecting 'evil' resonances in the magical realm, something like that. It was a warning, a very ominous one. I was wondering if you'd picked up anything similar."

"Ah. Well, you should know that I'm nowhere near the magic-wielder that Dr. Fate is. However, now that you mention, it, yeah, I've been picking up some weird feelings. Vibes is probably the closest word I could use to describe it."

"Are these sensations menacing or evil?"

Her brow furrowed in thought. "Certainly not benign," she said. "Yeah, I guess you could call them that. I only get them every once in a while, and the sensations are so faint that if they weren't recurring, I would have chalked it up to imagination by now."

I nodded. It was more or less a confirmation of what Fate had said, albeit from a drastically less powerful sorceress. Still, Zatanna's perceptions were nothing to ignore.

"Was I any help?" wondered Zatanna.

"Yes, thank you," I told her.

She cocked her head to the side. "You know, I have a show in about a half hour or so. I could use some of your talents."

"Criminalistics?"

"No," she laughed. "I was thinking more along the lines of your vocal abilities. A song or two in the interlude? Whaddya say?"

It took me a few moments to realize she was teasing me. Despite myself, I actually cracked a smile. "No more performances," I said. "I have a reputation to maintain, after all. How am I supposed to go around scaring criminals if it gets out that Batman moonlights as a blues singer?"

She chuckled as she organized her desktop. "And they say you don't have a sense of humor."

* * *

When Commissioner James Gordon saw the federal agents enter, he knew his day had just gone from bad to worse.

"Commissioner, said a man of medium height and nondescript features who wore a long, sweeping black trenchcoat. "A moment of your time please."

"Later fellas. Right now I'm busy with my hostage situation here."

"You mean _our_ hostage situation," corrected the man. He extended a hand. "I'm Rick Levin, by the way," he continued, flashing an unfamiliar, yet clearly authentic badge.

"I'm James Gordon, and this is my case."

"Your department lacks the necessary meta-human training required to—"

"My _department_ has fought every freak out there from Clayface to the Joker," snapped Gordon. "We're experts on metahumans and psychotic whack jobs. This is Gotham you're in, gentlemen."

"Good point," said Levin. "But see, you really have no choice. My boys and I will be overseeing any hostage situation that may arise, orders from higher up than you c'n probably see. If all goes according to plan, this should be wrapped up in no time."

"Mind filling me in on what this plan is?" asked the Commissioner sarcastically.

"Certainly. We neutralize Prizm. With extreme prejudice. Nothing left to chance with these metas. Then we cover it up and everyone plays nicely." The way he said it was almost as chilling as the words. "Questions?"

* * *

_Diana_

The first SWAT officer got the brunt of Prizm's blinding flash, which despite the flare-resistant goggles he wore rendered his eyes useless. He managed to roll over out of the way before dropping to the floor, disoriented.

The other five members currently on the floor were stunned, but only for a few moments. And when Prizm raised his hand to unleash another flash, they opened fire. Four 9mm Heckler & Koch submachine guns and one M16 all unleashed their respective projectiles at Prizm now that he was far enough away from me to avoid any collateral damage.

The sound was deafening, almost as overpowering to the auditory senses as Prizm's powers could be to the eyes. Prizm could only stand there stunned for the fraction of a second before the bullets struck.

He was knocked off his feet. Instantly. The force of the bullets literally carried him into the air and back, depositing him some five feet away. Once the last of the gunshots sounded, Prizm lay still on his back. I oddly wondered what would be done with the body.

One of the officers rushed over, kneeling beside me. "Are you hurt, miss?" he asked, scanning me for anything that looked like an injury.

I shook my head. "No, no I-"

"Its okay, ma'am," he interjected. "The metahuman has been neutral—AAAGH!" I watched in horror as his face went aglow with a searing hot light. Then he toppled over on his side, his features charred and blackened, and the sickening odor of burned flesh wafted up.

The other officers were shocked too, their gazes going back to Prizm, who miraculously was not dead. Not by a long shot. He was standing up, his fist outstretched and glowing with potential energy. "Die," he said, aiming at the remaining SWAT officers. He then unleashed another blast, far more powerful than the paltry light shows he had limited himself to up to now. The hiss of ozone precluded the blinding flash, which claimed another officer victim, literally burning a hole through his body and into his chest. He teetered, his mouth open in disbelief. It stayed open as he toppled to the ground. Dead.

The crash of windows briefly grabbed my attention. I watched, riveted, as reinforcements arrived, having swung in from helicopters outside. At the same time, the ceiling to my right caved, depositing dust and broken glass among other things all over the place. Out of the hole, even more specially trained cops came pouring in from the floor above. All hefted their weapons and began firing as soon as they landed on the ground.

Prizm ran. He had managed to trick the first wave of cops with his optical illusions, but that same trick wouldn't work twice. Besides, the money to be made from killing Diana was worthless if he was too busy rotting in jail to spend it. Casting as many duplicate illusions of himself behind him as possible, Prizm sprinted desperately toward the window at the end of the hallway.

* * *

The helicopter pilot picked up his radio. "He's heading down the east wing," he reported. "Straight towards me—I don't think he knows I'm here."

"Take him out before he does," Agent Levin replied from the other end. "He gets enough time and he'll have you seeing purple manatees flopping around; he's got optical illusion powers, you know. Can you take him out without collateral damage?"

"Depends. I would move everyone out of the floors below—these rounds could penetrate all the way to the basement and then some before stopping."

"Already been done."

"Well then, yes sir. I can."

"Do it."

The pilot brought up the targeting reticule on the chopper's display screen and tapped a quick code followed by a slight toggle on the joystick controls. On command, the large double-barreled M2 .50 machine guns in the copter's underbelly sprang to life, swiveling in position to target Prizm, who looked like was going to actually try and jump through the window. Their intelligence hadn't indicated any flight powers on the part of Prizm, but then again who knew what he could if he really wanted to badly enough.

Wasting no more time, the pilot stroked the trigger. The guns fired in perfect unison, sailing through the glass windows and into Prizm. And unlike the submachine gun fire he'd taken earlier, these were dead on target, as Prizm hadn't had time to create more illusions. The rounds killed him instantly.

* * *

_Diana_

The word 'overkill' couldn't even begin to describe what happened to Prizm. I and an entire SWAT team watched as a weapon from the outside, one that made the armaments carried by the Special Forces operatives look like popguns, reduced Prizm to a column of pink paste. He was obliterated instantly, the bullets going through him like he wasn't even there, only to thud into the floor and surrounding walls. The sound was almost literally deafening, it felt like the end of the world.

One man, probably the leader of the police forces, angrily took out his radio. "What the hell!" he demanded tersely. "What was that? We had him under control!"

The voice on the other end was, surprisingly enough, Commisioner Gordon's. "He was messing with all your heads," the Commisioner said. "He's an illusionist. I just watched via surveillance camera as the best SWAT team in the state emptied their clips into a statue, then stopped, thinking they'd hit their actual target."

"What?" I saw the officers look at each other. I was a little confused myself. "We _saw _him get hit by those bullets," the man insisted. "I don't know how he survived, but we pumped enough lead into the guy to kill him three times over."

I agreed with the man's assessment. I'd seen it too—the bullets hitting him, slamming him up and back. His body jerking and convulsing with the impact of each…

My eyes caught on the marble bust, the one Gordon had referred to. I'd never paid much attention to it personally, but it was nice and had added a pleasant mood to the office area.

Now it was just marble. There were a lot of bullet holes in the room, mostly on the floor where the bullets had ripped through after first going through Prizm. That was clearly not what had turned the statue into oh-so-much marble debris, however. The way the rubble was deposited away from the SWATs was a big clue that it was indeed their bullets that had destroyed it and the surrounding wall.

"He's right," I said, half to myself.

Several of the SWAT team members turned to me, eyes questioning. "What did you say?" the leader asked.

"I said that Gordon was right. You didn't shoot Prizm."

"Yes we did—you saw the same thing as us."

I rose to my feet. "I saw the exact same thing as you," I said. "And none of it was real." I pointed to the marble statue.

* * *

_Bruce_

I was on my way back from Zatanna's (now as Bruce Wayne) when I heard the news. At first, it was just garbled interceptions from the police band, but when more of them started coming in and I began hearing words like 'Prizm' and 'hostage situation' and 'WayneTech', I immediately put my new Mazda in high gear. I thought of Diana. That was why Prizm had shown up. Had to be, although for the life of me I couldn't figure out how he'd gotten to Diana undetected.

As I drove, testing the bounds of the speed limit, I pulled out my cell phone. I punched in the numbers frantically. I put the cell phone to my ear, only to hear Diana's pre-recorded voice informing me that she was unavailable and to leave my name and number and she would call back as soon as possible.

I swore, shoving the phone back inside my pocket and forcing myself to slow down. I was an expert driver, but I wouldn't reach Diana any faster by having to stop for a speeding ticket.

God, it hurt. I'd never been so afraid for Diana. For the vast majority of the time I'd known her, she'd been on a par with Superman and punks like Prizm wouldn't have taken her two seconds to handle. Even then, I suspected that none of us, not even she herself, knew how powerful she truly was.

Now was a different story however. She had no powers. Though in superb physical condition for a mortal human, she was still now just that: mortal. She could be hurt, or worse, killed. Easily. My mind flicked back to one of our earlier adventures together, in which she had single-handedly stopped a missile aimed for Gorilla City. I feared it had killed her. We all did.

I remembered digging, through the dirt and soil, all the while looking at this massive instrument of destruction that landed on Diana, wondering if she was alive or dead, if she was severely injured or would ever be able to walk again.

Alfred's serious voice cut into my thoughts, jerking me back to reality. I realized that I was almost at my company building and that up ahead the streets were cordoned off.

"Master Bruce," he began, "I take it you've heard the news."

"Just bits and pieces," I said. "Where are you?"

"The manor, of course. I am, however, monitoring the situation."

"What do you know about Diana?"

His words were uplifting. "I believe she's fine, Master Bruce. In fact, it seems that Prizm has been killed."

I frowned. "Killed?"

"Yes. To get any further information, I would probably have to intercept some government transmissions."

"Government?"

"Yes. A very influential government agency, unnamed so far. They came as soon as they heard the Prizm, most likely."

"How did Prizm die?"

I heard the tapping of a keyboard as Alfred searched for the answer. "A video clip," he said at last, "captured by your company's own surveillance cameras. I suspect this agency also hacked into those," he added. "They certainly have an abundance of resources."

"If it helped them take down Prizm, I don't care," I said. "Show me the feed."

"As you wish." He sent the file to my car's computer, where a window popped up. Taking one hand off the steering wheel, I eased the car onto the side of the street, parked, and brought up the video file.

Even the poor quality didn't hide the slaughter that had been captured on tape. I stared wide-eyed in disbelief as a hail of bullets from some point beyond the camera's range of view shredded Prizm into human confetti, more or less. It was a slaughter. An extermination. And it was unacceptable, no matter what Prizm was guilty of.

There was no audio, but that didn't matter once I saw Diana. Or rather, the upper right hand section of her face, since she didn't step into full camera view. I didn't realize the breath I'd been holding until I released it in one large sigh of relief.

I stepped out of my car and walked down the street toward the blockade. "Excuse me," I said to the two men in dark suits and sunglasses who stood in front of the front entrance.

They each put a restraining hand on one of my shoulders, holding me back. "I'm sorry, you can't approach any closer," said the one on the right, a tall, beefy guy with short, blond hair.

"I'm Bruce Wayne," I began. "I own this building and—"

"We know who you are, Mr. Wayne," said the man on the left. I was beginning to sense that they belonged to the government agency Alfred had referred to earlier. "You still can't approach any closer."

"Well what happened up there exactly?" I asked. "I think I have at least the right to know that."

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Wayne. Please go back to your vehicle and wait until the appropriate authorities have authorized entry."

Arguing with them was useless, and there was really no point now that I knew Diana was out of immediate danger. Still, I wanted to see her. Apologize, maybe, about my failure to protect her from Prizm.

That would have to wait though. In the meantime, I could take care of more pressing business. Fighting my way past reporters who had just discovered that Bruce Wayne had arrived, I finally managed to get inside my car and pull off. I tapped a sequence on the dashboard and the normal looking display panel was immediately replaced by a communications center far more sophisticated than any found in a commercial vehicle.

In a matter of seconds, I had Alfred back on the line, this time with a new assignment.

"You have access to all surveillance camera data from the Batcave, right?" I confirmed.

"I should, yes."

"Perfect. I want you to see if Jeroh Zacherias entered the building today. I also want to you to get some satellite feed of his house from today. See if he's got any heavy vans or trucks showing up, like he's about to leave town."

Alfred contacted me back a minute later. "In answer to your first question, no. Mr. Zacherias never entered the building and certainly didn't check in. As for the satellites, your suspicions turned out to be right on the money. I got several still images of his minivan continually leaving and arriving back at his driveway. He's certainly packing for something."

"Yes," I said. "Jail."

* * *

Ares laughed as he watched the drama unfold on earth. The events he'd orchestrated were less than standard fare for both Diana and the infamous Batman. Challenging, sure, but in the grand scheme of things nothing more than a field test so that he could gauge their abilities, their thought processes. Especially Diana. While he had no love for the Dark Knight, it was Diana who made his blood boil with rage. Part of him relished the thought of merely killing her now, weakened as she was. But that wouldn't do. When he did fight her, it would be open. Public. The entire world would be able to watch him destroy the pesky Amazon who had turned the gods against him and foiled his plans. He knew that Artemis especially would not be happy once she learned that the death mark on Diana had been rescinded, now that he knew her assumed identity. It was only temporary though. Long enough for Ares to finish playing with Diana and destroy her personally. He might even let Artemis get in a kick or two at Diana's corpse.

Several things did worry him, however. First and foremost was the involvement of Dr. Fate, who had apparently noticed his subtle influences on Earth, arranging the scenario that both Diana and Bruce now found themselves in. That Fate had warned the Justice League was troubling. Nothing major, but still troubling. Fate would have to be taken care of too.

And Themyiscera. He smiled to himself from the throne of his war-chamber, spinning a globe lazily, stopping it with his finger. It was pressed against the geographical location of the Amazons' island. His plans for that particular piece of real estate were only just beginning.

* * *

AN: Hi, long time no see. Sorry for the delay in posting (school and all that). Anyway, tell me what you think of the chapter. Any and all suggestions are welcome, constructive criticism too.

Big thanks to Kasuchi, once again, for being a peerless beta-reader as well as an invaluable source for suggestions.

-Cleric


	7. Chapter 7

Diana

So this is what its like to be human 

Despite what I told all the emergency personnel who seemed eager to cart me off to the nearest hospital, I had suffered some injuries. Minor ones, especially compared to the ones Bruce was probably still recuperating from, but injuries nonetheless. I found myself missing my powers once more. My enhanced invulnerability, my bracelets, my lasso, my armor. It wasn't all that long ago that defeating Prizm would have taken me all of two seconds without getting so much as a bruise.

There were bruises now. One was forming on my cheek already, a nasty purplish thing that screamed with pain at even the slightest touch. My lower ribs were tender too, having absorbed some of the force of one of Prizm's punches. I also discovered a tiny marble fragment imbedded in my hand. Disgusted, I yanked it out and threw it against the wall. I wanted to see Bruce.

I had been expecting Commissioner Gordon to come over, ask me a few questions, and then let me go. He did show up, but didn't approach me. I got up from my little spot against the wall and started toward him when I felt a cool hand on my arm.

I whirled around and saw a man with dark, graying hair and bland face. He wore a black trench coat and carried himself with an authority that belied his average stature and appearance. "Diana Prince," he said. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. He paused anyway though, letting me confirm it.

"Yes, that's my name."

"Hello, Ms. Prince. My name is Agent Levin," he said, pulling his coat aside to reveal a badge. "I wanted to talk to you for a moment."

"About what?"

"National security, actually. Don't worry, this won't take long."

I just stared at him. "What could I possibly have to do with national security?"

"Everything, as of now. You were attacked by a rogue metahuman, one that has been on my agency's priority list for some time now, due to terrorist involvements in the past. Why he attacked you, I don't know, although there's a very good chance that someone hired him, someone who wants you dead."

"Please cut to the chase," I said, interrupting before he could go on further. "If you have something to ask me, please just do it."

He shrugged. "Very well. Your government would appreciate it if you forgot the events of today and remembered something else instead, coinciding with the GCPD's upcoming press conference story."

"What?"

"I want you to disremember the meta. You have no idea he exists, much less that he attacked you. Instead, it was a crazed ex-employee who entered the building and attacked you."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You-you're asking me to lie?"

"More or less, except that I'm not necessarily asking. You will avoid any and all media personnel, and disregard any questions from anyone regarding the incident, even your coworkers. If, God forbid, you should happen to say anything, it will be in complete accordance with what the GCPD says at their press conference. There was, like I said, a crazed ex-employee. He broke the window in your office, all the while rambling about WayneTech's unfair firing practices or whatever. He hit you a few times, then shot several members of the SWAT team that tried to apprehend him before being gunned down himself."

"Yeah, by a helicopter! You guys assassinated him, Agent Levin. Don't tell me to try to cover that up to save _your_ hides."

He arched an eyebrow. "What if I told you that this man, Prizm, was more powerful than Superman?"

"I'd ask you to show me the time when bullets did anything except bounce off Superman like rubber."

Levin was already shaking his head. "You don't understand, Ms. Prince. Prizm's powers extended far beyond the flashy little light shows. Her just didn't know how to unlock them. Yet. We took a DNA sample from a robbery he was involved in a few years back. One single cell in his body contains enough energy to power a laptop computer for days. He was only capable of accessing a fraction of a percent of that energy before, but could you imagine what he would've been able to do if he'd managed to tap into the rest of it? The results would be catastrophic."

I was already shaking my head. "That still doesn't excuse cold-blooded murder."

Agent Levin cocked his head to the side. "Whoever Prizm was working for now was small time, had him doing individual hits. Had we waited for Prizm to discover his true potential – and I assure that wasn't long in happening – anyone from the Mafia to Al Qaeda could potentially purchase his skills. And once again, I'm not talking about the cute little light tricks. That much power unleashed could level cities. Better to nip such a nightmare scenario in the bud before it became reality." He paused. "Wouldn't you agree?"

I didn't agree, but I was too tired to argue over that point. It wasn't as if he had to worry about me going to the press or anything; I'd had more than enough media attention already. I turned back to Agent Levin. "Your secret is safe with me."

He actually cracked a smile. "Be sure you keep that promise, Ms. Prince." It was an unspoken threat that was just as effective as if he'd voiced it aloud.

And with that he was gone.

Bruce 

"You're sure you feel alright?" I asked Hallie, who had just been released from police custody. She looked shaken up, but bore no evidence of injury, serious or otherwise.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just confused, I guess." She jerked a thumb back toward the office building. My office building. "Some government guy just gave me the third degree, told me that my secrecy about whatever happened was a matter of national security."

"Ah," I said, suspecting that she wasn't the only one. "Do you remember anything that happened?"

"Not a bit. That guy, whoever he was, must've really knocked me out."

I nodded and patted her on the shoulder. "Listen, Hallie, if you don't think you'll be able to make it to work tomorrow . . ."

She was already waving her hand dismissively. "Don't be ridiculous. A few calls to Jeroh and—"

"Jeroh is no longer employed here. He's a fugitive actually. From the law."

Hallie was flabbergasted. "You're kidding."

"I wish. Turns out he was skimming large amounts of money from the company. He also apparently had strong organized crime ties, which is how he was able to arrange the assassination."

"My God! I'm so sorry, Bruce."

I fished into my pocket, pulling out a keycard which I handed to her. "Look at the bright side," I said, "Now you have his job."

_Diana_

It was a pleasant surprise to see Bruce immediately after being released from the building. The back of his head, anyway, since he was on the phone, pacing back and forth. I watched as he finished the brief conversation and flipped the phone shut. I walked up to just within arm's length and gave him a quick tap on the shoulder.

He spun around, eyes widening. "Diana!" he exclaimed, wrapping me in a brief, yet warm embrace. He pulled back, keeping his hands on my arms, his look a bit concerned now. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, really Bruce."

His index finger came up. Brushed against my bruised cheek. "That's quite a shiner you've got there."

"Yeah, it hurts a bit."

"I'll have Alfred look at once we get you home."

I couldn't help but smile at his words. Themyiscera may have been my true home, and I wanted to return there soon, hopefully with my powers restored. But Bruce's manor was a very nice substitute in the meanwhile, and it was oddly touching to know that he welcomed me there just as much as if I were Alfred or one of his costumed protégés.

I suddenly remembered something. "Hallie," I said, turning back around. "I have to check and see if—"

"She's fine," said Bruce. "I just talked with her a few minutes ago. She's headed home for some rest and will be back in the morning." He pushed a button on the car and the passenger and driver's doors opened. "Shall we go, then?"

It was a short ride back to the manor and every few seconds or so, I would catch Bruce looking at me out of the corner of his eye while he drove. Protective instinct, I thought, not quite sure if I found the idea endearing or annoying.

"I must say, it certainly is good to see you hardly the worse for wear after such an awful ordeal," said Alfred as soon as we entered the font doors. His eyes strayed to my bruise, which I had the feeling would dominate my features for a few days. "My," Alfred remarked, "that certainly looks painful. I hope you gave as good as you got."

I looked down at my raw knuckles, back to the brief skirmish between Prizm and myself. "You could say that."

Alfred gave me a knowing smile, then turned back to Bruce, his demeanor serious. "Shall I prepare the Batmobile then, Master Bruce?"

"Yes." Bruce's voice had dropped several octaves, gone from playful to grim. He was shifting into Batman mode. "Make sure that my utility belt is fully equipped as well. I don't expect much trouble, but for all I know Jeroh has another meta stashed away somewhere."

My mind was busy trying to scramble together information. "Jeroh? You mean Hallie's boss?"

"Hallie's ex-boss," Bruce corrected, already moving toward the grandfather clock entrance into the batcave. I hurriedly walked alongside to keep up. "You found incriminating evidence on his illegal activities, so he decided to kill you. Or rather, hire someone else to do it."

"Ah," was all I could say as I processed this new information. So Levin had been lying to me about Prizm being a rogue operative. I was about to mention this to Bruce, but then something else stole my attention entirely.

I shivered involuntarily, only partly because of the cold. Here at the bottom of the long stairway, I could see that the Batcave truly was a place fit for a creature of the night, most of it left cloaked in shadow with only the eerie glow of computer monitors and a few overhead lights to provide illumination.

Looking around, I took in the various displays arranged to the side of the cavern. Bruce's old costumes as well as those of his various sidekicks throughout the years hung against one wall, protected by glass barriers. Farther to the right, a life-sized mechanical T-Rex gaped at us, as if frozen in mid-hunt. To his side was the largest penny I had ever seen.

When I turned back around, Bruce was already putting on his costume, sliding easily into the form-fitting material. He put on in his gloves in rapid succession, and then turned back to me. "This shouldn't take long," he said.

"What shouldn't take long?"

"Apprehending Jeroh. I don't want him trying to get it right the second time." He slipped on the cowl now, making the transformation complete. He seemed taller, darker, and all in all completely different than Bruce Wayne. He had to be, to hold his own in a league that had members strong enough to move mountains.

A dozen questions sprang to mind, but Bruce . . .Batman didn't seem to be in the mood for more chitchat. I found myself following him into a different subsection of the cave, wondering just how large the underground expanse was. My liberal estimate flew out the window when I saw his garage, if you could call it that. It was the size of several gymnasiums. At least. It was slightly better illuminated than the main cavern, but only so that the Batmobiles could be seen. Not plural as in two or three—plural as in two or three _dozen_, in all sorts of sizes and makes and designs. Some were long and thin, others were flat and close to the ground. One in particular, which rested on the far west wall resembled a tank more than Batmobile, save for the fact that it had been spray-painted black.

"You . . .have a lot of cars," I said lamely.

Bruce actually cracked a smile. "I get a brand new one every few months," he said. "Some engineer in Tokyo will probably come up with a spectacular design and I'll notice and buy his specifications, then modify them and turn them into a new Batmobile."

"What are the old ones for?" I asked. But he didn't hear me. He was already climbing into the seat of his latest model, a seat that more resembled a cockpit than the interior of any car. I got one last glimpse of him tapping commands into a dashboard computer before the top of the Batmobile slid shut.

Alfred finished his brief, yet thorough analysis of the video. "She's fit as a fiddle, Master Bruce."

"Excellent." Now Bruce's voice was reverberating throughout the entire Batcave. He paused, then said again, "This shouldn't take long."

And with that he was off.

Bruce 

Finding Jeroh didn't take long. He had connections, sure. It was the only way he could have gotten someone with Prizm's unique abilities on board his little scheme. I had the feeling, though, that now his connections wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole. Some might even want to kill him now that he was clearly a fugitive. No sense in letting the cops get him and make him a deal to rat his friends out, they would be thinking. I wondered how many hits Jeroh had on his head by now. More than one, certainly. He wasn't just getting a taste of his own medicine; it was being crammed down his throat.

But he wasn't going to die. Not tonight, anyway. He was going to rot in jail miserably for as long as the law allowed. The D.A., an old friend of mine, would see to that. She wasn't exactly known for her leniency on crime.

I found him in an abandoned warehouse. He wasn't moving, according to the GPS tracker on his phone. Just standing there. I frowned as I approached the front of the building, wondering if perhaps Jeroh had simply abandoned the phone, though it would have been far easier to just toss it in a sewer or garbage bin. Regaedless, I'd find out soon enough.

I exited the Batmobile putting in cloaking, virtually invisible to any passerbys. Reaching up, I activated the thermal imaging centers in my cowl. The lenses suddenly became green, and now I could see heat signatures right through solid walls. Seeing one human heat signature was no surprise. It was the other five that puzzled me. Who were they? Friends? Unusually loyal buddies if they had decided to stick with Jeroh after this fiasco.

I walked into the building easily, right through the front door. The place had been abandoned for a long time. It was like one big empty room. No machinery, no walls. Just empty space lit by a solitary light hanging from the high ceiling.

The five people, two men and three women, all wore dark trench coats. Two of the men had black hats, and all five wore mirrored lenses. Most importantly, they were heavily armed -I could see at least one sawed off shotgun and some submachine guns in the bunch. All very high quality.

Jeroh wasn't one of them and they were not his friends. Not anymore, anyway, which became pretty clear once I saw whom they were crowded around. Jeroh was freely bleeding and tied to a chair. His head hung down listlessly. Had it stayed that way, I might have avoided detection, but it didn't. He raised his eyes, which flitted around the abandoned warehouse briefly before coming to rest squarely on me.

"Batman?" he managed weakly through a broken mouth. It sounded like 'Bathmmann'". There was a little whistling sound as he talked, probably caused by missing teeth.

One of the women, tall with hair pulled back into a severe bun was the first to spot me. Most criminals start yelling at that point, firing randomly in my general direction and then running like hell. My reputation evidently did not precede me here, just outside of Gotham, though. That, or she was just a very cool customer. "Batman," she hissed in an Italian accent, causing all of her associates to follow her gaze. "Kill him."

Italian accent . . .authoritative voice . . .she was definitely the leader. No question. And from the accent, I was beginning to understand who they were. Mafia.

I don't like the Mafia. Never have. I'd tangled with them on more than one occasion, which explained the venom in the woman's voice. The feeling was definitely mutual. Five guns came up. I looked instinctively for cover then remembered that there was none. The warehouse was like a big open shooting gallery with me as the target.

In a move honed with years of practice, I whipped a handful of gas pellets from my utility belt and threw them on the ground between myself and the other five mobsters. Then, twisting away as fast as possible, I pirouetted in midair, coming back around with a payload of hard-edged batarangs. I let three of them fly before landing back on the ground and focusing on my next target: the light.

Two of my batarangs connected with their intended targets, evidenced by the dual cries of pain followed by the unmistakable thump of bodies hitting the ground. Three mobsters left. Maybe three seconds to go before they got wise to the gas and managed to actually hit me.

I pulled out another batarang, aimed high, then let loose with all my might. It was a high ceiling. Nevertheless, my projectile did its job, punching straight through the room's only lighting fixture and plunging the room into darkness. The machine guns stopped.

"Listen," commanded the woman to the two of her friends that were still standing. "He's here somewhere."

I smiled, turning my night vision on. It was still a shooting gallery, but now they were the targets. Blind as bats.

Given the luxury of timing my aim while they fumbled around blindly, I picked them off at my leisure. Two, I dispatched with a single batarang which rebounded off one man's temple and into the other's skull. They dropped like flies.

"You're the last left standing," I said to the woman. "If you drop your gun, you'll get through the day without needing medical attention."

Facial expressions are difficult to see with night vision lenses, but it looked like she was agreeing. She brought her own weapon up, an Ithaca shotgun with a wickedly short barrel, and held it out like she was going to hand it to me. The direction was a bit off, but then again, she couldn't see.

"Now-," I said, reaching for the weapon. I didn't get farther than that. In a lighting-fast move that caught even me off guard, she whirled it around so that the barrel was facing me. Then she pulled the trigger.

I was already in motion by the time the shotgun went off, spinning to the side. Had it been a handgun or even a rifle, the bullet would have sailed harmlessly by. The lethal spray from a shotgun however, especially one with such a short barrel, went everywhere. I felt the edge of the spray pepper my cape and body armor, followed by intense pain as I went down.

I wouldn't survive another one of those. Reaching into my utility belt, I withdrew two more hard-impact batarangs and whipped them at the woman. The batarangs didn't have far to travel, and they performed to perfection upon reaching their target. One of them smacked into the hand holding the shotgun, audibly breaking delicate wrist and hand bones while at the same time knocking the weapon out of reach. The other batarang collided with her forehead with a dull knocking sound, dropping her like a bag of potatoes. She would need that medical attention after all.

I rose, ignoring the pain in my left side. Jeroh looked sullen and defeated, completely oblivious to the violence that had just taken place. He seemed even worse up close than from afar, now that I could see the bruises forming on his face, and the unnatural angle of his jaw.

"You hired Prizm to kill a Wayne Enterprises employee," I said.

He didn't deny it, just sat there staring blankly.

"Led the police on a merry chase too," I added. "Would have, anyway, if it weren't for your friends here. What are they? Mafia?"

"Just take me to prison."

"All in due time. But first I want to know who these people are, what your relationship is to them, and why they were beating you like piñata." I leaned close, letting my voice drop to its deepest. "Trust me, you really want to tell me what I want to know."

"Or what? You'll torture me?" He managed to get it out, even through a less-than-functional mouth. "These guys you just knocked out, they're sadistic. Psychopaths. And there's more just like 'em, more than ready to have a little fun with the idiot who starts to talking to the cops or Batman or whatever. Whatever you'll do to me if I don't tell is nothing compared to what'll happen to me if I do. So take me to prison and—" He coughed, suddenly. A large, monster of a cough that wracked his entire body violently. My eyes widened when I saw what it was he was coughing up. Blood.

A press of a button on my utility belt and the emergency dispatch had ambulances on the way to the warehouse. The blood kept coming and I realized that I had still underestimated what had been done to Jeroh. He was probably bleeding internally, had been the whole time. He might not even make it out alive.

_Diana_

"Thirty?"

Alfred nodded, gesturing at the wide array of Batman costumes kept in storage at the Batcave. "Correct, Ms. Diana. Bruce's costumes have evolved over time, accompanying new and changing technology to make them more effective and safe. One of his first ones, as you see, was little more than a resilient blue spandex with a cowl constructed of similar material. Over the years, he's added protective armor and gadgetry to his costume, enabling it to even withstand bullets and tune into radio broadcasts. The technological advances made to the cowl alone are innumerable. Not to mention his utility belt. And then of course there are the aesthetic modifications to the length of the bat ears, design of the bat symbol, and so on and so forth."

My gaze drifted to one costume that was completely white. "And this one?" I asked.

"A specialized suit for cold weather locations or fighting Victor Fries, a man you probably know better as the villain Mr. Freeze. It's outfitted with enhanced thermal regulation and the boots and gloves are designed for maximum traction on ice. The eye lenses in the cowl also have special filters for blocking sunlight reflected off of ice, which can be quite blinding in particular instances."

I just nodded, absorbing even more of the information I had been gaining about Bruce since Alfred's impromptu tour had begun a half hour ago. The man was a genius, no way around it. How he had been able to create such stable and effective system for crime fighting without anyone catching on to who he was . . .it was simply mind-boggling.

Slipping to the side, I gently removed one of the many batarangs stored on a series of racks set up near the costumes. It was small and cool to the touch, yet heavier than one would think just by looking at it.

"Ah," said Alfred, having glimpsed what was in my hand. "The batarangs. Marvelous pieces of equipment, if I do say so myself. They've saved Master Bruce life on countless occasions."

I nodded, still palming the small projectile. "Has Bruce reported back yet?"

"No, not yet. Soon though. Jeroh should not be hard to apprehend."

"What if something else happens while he's out? Like a bank robbery or something."

Alfred chuckled. "You underestimate the fine men and women of the police department, my dear. While they may not be well equipped to handle some of the lunatics that Master Bruce is forced to deal with they are more than capable of responding to a bank robbery, the same as any other city."

"Still . . ." I thought back to my earlier conversation with Bruce about having help in Gotham. Protecting such a crime-ridden city in addition to Justice League responsibilities (though he did tend to ignore the latter at times) seemed too much of a burden for one man.

I slipped the batarang into throwing position as I'd seen Bruce do a million times. Flexed my wrist back and forth to test the weight. I focused back on Alfred, holding the batarang up. "Does Bruce have a practice range for these things?"

Bruce 

Jeroh did die, bleeding to death despite my best efforts and those of the paramedics who arrived on the scene in a matter of minutes. By that time I was gone, leaving only Jeroh's corpse and the unconscious gang members behind for some lucky police chief to claim credit for.

Jeroh had been neutralized. Not my way, as I would have preferred a trial and perhaps being able to get key evidence on other corruption in the city, but I would have to settle for the fact that the threat against Diana no longer existed. She would be safe to move out of the mansion and find a place of her own. I kept telling myself this was a good thing.

Diana 

_Thunk_. That was the sound my batarang made when it imbedded itself in the wooden target board Alfred had given me to practice on. It hit the board, at least, but was probably as far away from the center as possible.

"Try again," Alfred entreated. "It does take some getting used to."

I did try again, this time going for a whiplash motion in the wrist. _Thunk. _Third ring from the center.

"Impressive," said Alfred sincerely. "Again?"

By my tenth try, I could hit bull's eye from fifteen feet. By my twentieth, I could do so eight out of ten times.

"Looks very easy, doesn't it," said a familiar voice. Not Alfred's. I turned around to see that Bruce was back, still in costume, but with his cowl pulled back to the neck to reveal his full face, which wasn't an unpleasant sight in the least.

I smiled, hoisted another batarang, and whipped it at the target, where it struck just left of bull's eye. "You could say that."

He quirked a grin. "I thought so too, at first. They are amazing little projectiles, after all, and anyone with a good arm can get some degree of accuracy in a controlled environment." He stressed the word controlled. "Gotham, however, is not a controlled environment, and enemies are not stationary wooden planks fifteen feet away."

Alfred cleared his throat. "Master Bruce, how did the operation go, if I may ask?"

"Jeroh is dead."

I gasped, dropping the batarang. "You killed him?"

"Of course not. He was found by an enforcement arm of a gang, Mafia maybe. By the time I was able to take care of them, it was pretty much too late. There was internal bleeding, maybe even a punctured lung . . .he didn't survive."

"How are you going to cover that up?" I asked. "The news will be all over this. Won't that create even more bad publicity for the company?"

"Why? Just because a former employee of mine was mugged walking on the wrong side of town?"

"That's what you'll tell them?"

"It's the only conclusion any investigators will be able to come to. They'll find Jeroh's body among a bunch of unconscious gangsters, and assume it was a routine mugging. The gangsters themselves won't say anything, as that would incriminate them. Simple as that."

Alfred seemed satisfied with this. "Very well then, Master Bruce. If there's nothing else, I was considering an evening out with the lovely Dr. Thompkins."

Bruce grinned. "Go for it Alfred. Take her somewhere nice. On me."

"As you wish, sir." Alfred nodded his head and headed back towards the cave exit, humming an upbeat tune as he ascended the gradual stairs.

I turned to Bruce. "Dr. Thompkins?"

"Leslie Thompkins, yes. She's an old friend of the family, and was probably the most influential figure in my life second to Alfred." He paused. "They're good for each other."

"I'd like to meet her."

"You will, actually. Next week, my company will be hosting a gala of sorts – a big formal dance that I throw every year for the charity and humanitarian branches of Wayne Enterprises."

"I'm invited?"

"Of course. And I have the feeling Alfred will bring Leslie. It'll be fun."

"Oh? And who will you be bringing?" I asked casually.

He gave a longsuffering sigh. "I've promised so many dates to so many different women that it's hard to keep them straight in my head. I'll probably just end up asking Alfred to choose for me."

I wasn't jealous. Well, maybe a little, but the womanizing playboy was just an act, after all. An illusion Bruce was forced to maintain that would divert any and all suspicion leading to him being Batman. That was it.

Still, I wanted to change the subject. Reaching down to the floor, I picked up the dropped batarang and offered it to him. "Care to give a demonstration?"

The look Bruce gave me was equal parts amusement and confusion. "Sure, but since when are you so interested in batarangs?"

"Is that a no, Mr. Wayne?"

He arched an eyebrow. Shrugged. "Okay." He took batarang, hefted it, and then launched it with a flick of the wrist. Except that instead of a linear flight, the batarang curved around the edge of the cavern, never hitting a single stalactite. The next thing I knew, it was back in his hand, as if he hadn't even thrown it.

I blinked. "Teach me that."

And he did, standing behind me to guide my arms and torso into the correct position. I threw the batarang and noticed two things. One, the batarang actually followed a curved path, though I would have to adjust my release angle to get it to return to me instead of crashing into a stalactite. Two, Bruce had an amazingly gentle touch. The only contact was his steadying my throwing arm and back, but I could almost feel sparks flying even through the gloves. I felt like I had just a few days ago when Bruce had come walking down the staircase to finalize arrangements for my new job. Weak-kneed, dizzy, everything an Amazon was not supposed to be. I liked him. I liked him too much, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Not bad," complimented Bruce, stepping back. His hand slipped into one of his utility belt compartments and came back out with another batarang. "Care for another try?"

"Sure," I said, still feeling a little lost in the rush of desire that was already beginning to make my face heat. _Focus, Diana. You're an Amazon. You're the daughter of Hippolyta, not some silly schoolgirl. Have some dignity! _

"My father once told me that it isn't very polite to ask a lady what she's thinking," Bruce stated suddenly, rousing me out of my contemplations. "I must admit though, I'm tempted."

I gave him a coquettish smile. "Your father was a wise man," I answered cryptically, refusing to take the bait.

"Yes," agreed Bruce, his voice becoming somber. "He was." He lifted his head, smirking at me. "Well . . ."

"Well what?"

"Are you going to throw?"

"So tell me, Artemis," Ares began, staring down the 'new' Wonder Woman, "what progress, exactly, are you making?"

"My sisters are ready for revolution," stated Artemis, trying not to be intimidated by the god of war. Why he had chosen their meeting place to be a dark alley, she didn't know. He was certainly menacing though, and she didn't doubt it was in her best interests to keep him pleased. "We must formulate a realistic strategy though. Hippolyta's supporters outnumber us, and if we strike the first blow their retaliation will be swift, merciless, and completely justified."

"We will strike the first blow," stated Ares, "but it will seem provoked. Perhaps one of your warriors could become involved in an . . ._altercation_ with one of Hippolyta's. Philippus, perhaps. Your warrior would have to be sacrificed, but we could demand that the good general stand trial for an unwarranted assault and breach of treaty, something Hippolyta would never agree to of course. Then _poof_, we have our excuse."

Artemis laughed incredulously. "For a so-called god of war, your tactical skills are abysmal. Do you honestly think that anyone would believe for one second that—"

"'So-called!'" roared Ares, his hand snaking out to clamp in a viselike grip around Artemis' throat. "I am chaos and rage incarnate! You would do well to remember precisely who is in control here!" His eyes blazed with an unearthly fury, then returned to normal, like a high pressure valve letting off steam. He let go of Artemis's neck, allowing her breathe again. "As I was saying," he continued, "we will have had our excuse and, with the right 'witnesses,' it will be more than enough to keep the Justice League or any of these other spandex-wearing primates from interfering. Themyiscera is a sovereign nation after all."

Artemis glowered at him but said nothing, massaging her throat and the side of her neck. "I will arrange it," she muttered after a few moments.

"Excellent."

Bruce 

"She can't stay here forever," said Alfred, steadying the punching bag in the Bat cave's training room. "The tabloids are already beginning to speculate about the two of you. Having her stay much longer, regardless of whether or not your relationship is platonic, could be very damaging from a public relations viewpoint.

I peppered the punching bag with a flurry of arm and knee blows, then stepped back, taking in a deep breath. Diana was in bed now and had been for hours. I'd been going through my usual regimen of physical exercise and training. Usually, Alfred was content to observe, make a suggestion here or there, and read the paper. Now, his statement had knocked me off guard, forcing me to stop just long enough to respond. "I know that, Alfred. I've been looking for places for her to stay ever since she arrived here."

Alfred smiled. "I do understand your predicament, Master Bruce. I, too, am fond of her, though I suspect not quite to the degree you are. She's been a wonderful addition to this empty old place, but unless you're willing to thrust her even further into the public spotlight . . ."

I began hand and foot strikes, raining a series of punch and kick combination down upon the punching bag. A regular one would have broken five times over by now, but mine was custom made for absorbing the hardest I could hit it with. Without having to worry about going easy on the bag, I could concentrate instead on maintaining fluidity and economy of motion. "I'll have her begin selecting tomorrow," I said. "Wherever she wants to live, completely bought and paid for by Wayne Enterprises. It's the least I could do."

"Hmm," said Alfred. "And what of the future? How long to you plan to keep Diana in Gotham? Weeks? Months?" He paused. "Years?"

With a leap, I was airborne, twisting my body in midair to execute a shattering upside down kick to the top of the punching bag. With my other foot, I pushed off, catapulting myself into a shock-absorbing somersault on the floor that returned me back to an upright position.

I reflected back on Alfred's question. The fact that Diana's power loss might be permanent had crossed my mind, but always with the hope that we would find a cure, a way to restore her former abilities. If she never got them back, would she simply stay here in Gotham forever? Just a normal, everyday career woman?

"I've made you think," said Alfred, developing a fatherly grin. "My work here is done. Keep thinking – I trust your judgment in however you should choose to handle the situation."

I steadied the punching bag, running a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. "Thank you, Alfred."


	8. Chapter 8

_Diana _

"I swear," Hallie fumed, "if I see one more reporter . . ." she trailed off, perhaps trying to think of a fate suitable for the relentless 'journalists' all around the office building. I could sympathize, having had to endure the same treatment upon entering the building. One particular reporter disguised as a janitor was lying unconscious on his pretend cart, the result of pestering me as I tried to make it up the stairs.

Still, those nuisances aside, my mind was still focused on the changes that had taken place literally overnight. Most of the damage caused by the past day's battle was completely repaired, with workmen coming in every minute to fix or replace anything left. Not that it mattered to me, since I was now up one floor and in a better office. With Jeroh gone, it was up to all of the employees under him, myself and Hallie included, to fill in the vacuum. Which meant promotions. _Lots_ of promotions.

So," I said to Hallie once she had calmed down, "what do you think of your new job?"

She shrugged. "Terrible circumstances to get it under, but I think I'm every bit as qualified as Jeroh was. Not to mention that unlike my predecessor, I come without the Mafia connections." She turned to me, having just finished opening the door to her new office. "And you? It must be nice, not to have to file papers anymore."

"It is," I acknowledged. "But its also kind of intimidating, knowing that soon I'll be negotiating for millions and millions of dollars with professionals all over the world."

Hallie made a dismissive motion with her hand. "You'll be fine, Diana. You seem like the natural . . .ambassadorial type."

I thought back to my days in the Justice League. Most of my 'negotiating' then had been with punches and kicks. Somehow, I didn't think that would prove very effective in my new job.

I glanced back Hallie, who had begun connecting her iPod to her office computer. "Have you heard about the gala next week?" I asked.

"Mmm-hmm." Hallie straightened up, apparently satisfied with the job she'd done. "It's a lot of fun. I went last year and had a blast, though I think I'm going to try something new this year."

"Really?"

"Yep," she said. "I'm going to ask Bruce to go as my date."

"Ah. And you think he'd say yes?"

Hallie shrugged. "Can't hurt to try, and I know he gets tired of bringing those rich and spoiled starlets with single digit IQs. You should have seen him last year, he brought this rich girl . . .Silver something . . .Silver St. Cloud. That's it. Poor Bruce, his date spent the entire night rambling about the wine and making fun of other guests. He looked miserable. I figure if I just go ask him, the worst he can do is say no, in which case I'll just have to go with Joey the Janitor."

I couldn't help but laugh. Joey was a grizzled old man at least thirty years Hallie's senior who probably hadn't worn anything but coveralls since the Kennedy Administration. On a deeper level though, Hallie impressed me. She was clearly enamored of Bruce- that much was obvious. But instead of dancing around the issue like myself, she was going to act on those feelings and let whatever was to happen happen. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

But Hallie had already gotten off the subject, asking questions about which of her paintings should go where. "So what about above the computer?" she was saying. "The children or the landscape?"

I looked at both pictures. The landscape was nice, but nowhere near as eye-catching as the painting of the little boy and girl walking along a seashore. Their backs were to the viewer so the girl's face could not be seen at all, just a mass of unruly black hair. The boy who was holding her hand, however, was turning to look at her, offering a view of his profile. It was how Bruce may have looked as a child, I thought. Same hair, same blue eyes. The little boy was smiling.

I pointed at the picture. "This one. Definitely."

* * *

_Bruce_

Now that the danger from Zacherias had come and passed, all of the work and appointments I normally would have been involved in was catching up to me. Three meetings in four hours, none of which served any purpose save to enhance the billionaire playboy image. Most of the files and records that came my way simply got passed along to Lucius Fox, as well as most of my messages. Except one.

They'd located the site from which the Hyperion launcher was stolen, and even had surveillance footage that implicated one Wayne Enterprises employee, Charles Johnson, as being the one that had smuggled the weapons out. They were in the process of getting a warrant for his arrest.

I mulled over that one. It made no sense whatsoever that a single man had been able to steal a highly dangerous piece of equipment like the Hyperion. Something wasn't right about the entire situation, so I decided to pay the 'thief' a visit..

Casual dress, I thought, selecting a brown sports jacket over a black T-shirt and khaki slacks. It wasn't a formal visit, just curiosity on my part. Of course, if he didn't cooperate, Batman could always pay him a visit in jail. . .

It took me fifteen minutes in the heavy traffic to reach the manufacturing plant, which had several police cars parked in front. I wondered if I would have a chance to talk to the man before the GCPD hauled him off.

"Mr. Wayne," boomed Randy Kohl, the district head of this particular Branch of Wayne Enterprises. "I see you received my message."

"Sure did Randy," I replied, firmly shaking his hand. I looked around the room, which had several video monitors arrayed along the walls. In one of the corners sat a disheveled-looking Hispanic man, perhaps in his early forties. His ID card read Jose Mendez. The two cops on either side of him were asking questions, apparently unsatisfied with the answers they were being given.

"This the guy?" I asked, pointing to Mendez.

"Yup," answered Randy with a sigh. "That's him."

By now, both policeman had noticed my presence and stepped back to address me. "Hello Mr. Wayne," said the taller one, a gray-haired man whose voice bore the raspiness of longtime tobacco use.

I nodded in response. "So, anyone mind bringing me up to speed."

"Not much to say, really," said Kohl. "Surveillance shows this man, Jose Mendez, entering the storage area at around one o'clock in the morning with a tarp-covered cart. Ten minutes later, he comes out wheeling a cart with a Hyperion missile launcher on it."

I turned to Jose. "And what's your side of the story?" I asked him.

He raised his head looking at me. "I do not know exactly what happened that night," he insisted in heavily accented English. "I did not do this though."

"Do you have an alibi?"

He shook his head.

"What do you do here, Mr. Mendez?"

"He works in security," interjected the second officer, running a hand through his shock of red hair. "Look, Mr. Wayne, we asked him all these questions before. Guy says he didn't do it, but also says he can't remember the night in question and can't explain why he's shown on surveillance cameras going into a secured area and taking highly dangerous weapons."

I frowned. "Are there any other security guards?"

"Yep," said Kohl. "Another one, Jimmy Douglas. We found him unconscious the next morning."

"So you're saying a night watchman somehow knocked out his partner, got through the security checkpoint, assembled the Hyperion, and moved it out in ten minutes?"

"It could be done," said Kohl defensively. "We're not sure how he got the knowledge to assemble one, but the cameras don't lie. And that's the other thing. Computer shows his handprint being used to gain access to the area at the exact time the surveillance cameras indicate. Case closed, far as I'm concerned."

Bull, I thought. Too much didn't add up. I could do some research on the night watchman, but the fact that he worked for my company meant his record was clean. I sensed that he was genuinely scared and confused, and I'm a very hard man to deceive. Yet someone with his face, clothing, and most importantly, handprint, had whisked the weapon right out into the street where it wound up in the Joker's hands. If not Mendez, then a shapeshifter? Clayface, perhaps?

"Mr. Wayne?" said the red-haired officer, shaking me from my thoughts. "Given the serious nature of this offense, we'll be taking Mr. Mendez down to the station for further questioning."

I nodded, turning back to Mendez, whose face was now buried in his hands. Unfortunately, there was little I could to help him. For now.

"I'd like a copy of the tape, if you don't mind," I told Kohl.

"What for?"

I smirked. "To watch, of course."

* * *

_Diana_

Five hours of research, and I felt like I had barely skimmed the surface on the topic of Bruce's humanitarian work. There were dozens of foundations, organizations, charities, you name it- each with their own delicate problems that I had to look into. Money was another big issue; specifically, how much of it was being spent on what. I seriously hoped there wasn't another Jeroh out there in one of the company's charitable offshoots, but I had to be sure.

Luckily, I already had the technical training to make all of the higher-level math easier. Operating a computer was a breeze compared to operating the Watchtower's controls or flying the Javelin.

As the thought occurred to me, I felt a dull knot suddenly rise in my throat. I stopped typing, allowing myself a brief moment to reminisce about my days as Wonder Woman. They seemed so far off now, like an extremely realistic dream that you just woke up from.

There was a knock on the door of my new office, then Hallie poked her head in. She surveyed the space before smiling at me.

I smiled in return. "Hi, Hallie."

"Hi yourself, Diana. Do you know what time it is?"

"Of course," I started to say as I glanced down at my watch, "It's. . .whoa."

"Exactly. Day's over hon, you're free to go."

"Oh," I said, rising to my feet. My body ached from being in such a cramped position all day, another change I would have to get used to in the new post-Wonder Woman phase of my life. I flexed and extended my fingers, trying to get them out of the cramped, curled position they were stuck in.

Hallie studied my desk, which was an unfortunate mess of papers and folders. "Did you even eat lunch?" she wondered aloud.

Come to think of it, I hadn't. And now, thanks to the reminder, my body was starting to notice that fact as well, voicing its on opinion with a solid that rumble that caused my boss to break out in laughter.

"Well," she said, "I can't have undernourished employees; it's just not good business. That said, how about we both go down to Gio's?"

"Gio's?"

"Yep. Great food, and it's pretty cheap too." She jerked her head to the side. "Plus it's only a five or so minute walk thataways. C'mon."

I couldn't help smiling as I shrugged on my jacket. "Sure, why not."

As it turned out, the walk was closer to ten minutes, but I hardly even noticed. The air was cool and comforting, and with my jacket it felt lovely. It wasn't dark yet, but the sun had drifted down past the tall buildings of Gotham, leaving behind it a beautiful tapestry of yellows and violets that would eventually fade to night.

"We're here," Hallie announced, stopping in front of a small diner with a sign above that read: GIOVANNI'S in capital letters. Even from outside, I could smell the delicious aroma of authentic Italian food.

We were swiftly seated in a corner booth and given menus by the waitress, who happily informed us that her name was Trish, and that anything we needed, she would take care of promptly.

As she left, I noticed that there was a plasma screen television mounted above the bar, currently playing the news. Unsurprisingly, the day's highlights involved Wayne Enterprises, giving the network yet another chance to display Bruce's likeness on the air. I wasn't complaining though. It was a good picture.

"See anything you like?" Hallie asked.

"Mm-hm."

"Oh, that was fast-" she paused mid-sentence, swiveling around to see what I was looking at. There was a grin forming as she turned around. "I meant something on the menu," she teased.

I quickly swung my attention down to my own menu. "So did I."

"Right," she said, her tone implying the exact opposite. "But that still brings up an interesting topic."

"What? Bruce Wayne?"

"Uh-uh. _You_ and Bruce Wayne."

"What about it? We're old friends."

"From where? How did you meet?"

I was a bit taken aback by the questioning. I couldn't tell the truth, for obvious reasons. Not the whole truth anyway.

"Do you remember the Martian invasion a few years back?"

Hallie chuckled. "Oh yeah."

"It was then. We sort of . . .worked together during the crisis, along with some other individuals."

"Doing what?"

"Whatever we could."

"Ah." Hallie studied me for a moment, wordlessly accepting a glass of water from the waitress. "I'm sorry it seems like I'm interrogating you, but I can't shake the feeling that . . ."

"That what?"

"That you two were more than friends."

_Hah. I wish_. "Nope, just friends."

"You're sure."

"Very sure."

"So . . .you're not interested in Bruce like _that_?"

"I am not." Even as I said it, I knew I'd hesitated too long. Hallie, nodded, though she clearly didn't believe me. I wouldn't have believed me either. She didn't look hurt or upset, but I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

"Yes, you are," she murmured. A simple statement.

So there it was, out in the open. Well, technically, I hadn't admitted anything, but I may as well have. I liked Hallie. And she clearly liked me. But we were rivals as well, which bothered me.

"This menu looks really good," Hallie commented suddenly.

I agreed. "Yes. I think I'll get the spaghetti."

"And I'll probablyhave theravioli."

And with that, nothing more was said on the subject.

* * *

_Bruce_

"What shapeshifters in Gotham can you think of?" I asked Alfred. "Offhand."

"Hmm," pondered Alfred from across the Batcave. "Clayface is the only one that comes immediately to mind. Why?"

"Because whoever he or she is, they impersonated one of my employees and stole some sensitive tech. And it wasn't Clayface. He's still safe in sound in deep freeze cryostasis. I checked."

Alfred gave a helpless shrug. "I'm afraid I'm drawing a bit of a blank, Master Bruce. Keep searching though."

"Thanks, Alfred." I turned back to the Batcave's monitor. Whoever he was, he was good. Flawless impersonation. And the fingerprint thing . . .I wouldn't even have been surprised if the man could duplicate individuals down to their very genetic makeup.

It was an impersonator though. No doubt. He'd assembled and disassembled the Hyperion in half of the maximum time achieved during product testing. It's a heavy weapon with heavy components, and I knew that there was no way the real Jose Mendez could have lifted and manipulated those parts with such ease.

With a few button clicks, I copied the file several times to my own hard drives, and then took the video out. In the absence of absolute proof, there was nothing I could do for poor Jose, except continue my investigation.

But later. At the moment, I was wondering why Diana hadn't come home yet."

* * *

_Diana_

Fortunately, as long as Bruce Wayne wasn't the subject, Hallie and I had no problem carrying on a lively conversation on topics ranging from childhood memories to cars to our favorite television shows.

It was getting late though, and following a rousing discussion of Matthew Perry's acting ability (or lack thereof), we both decided it was time to get going. I realized that I had even forgotten to call Bruce and tell him I would be getting back late.

We both paid our share of the check and quietly exited the diner. The air was crisper, windier. And while it wasn't technically night, the streetlights were on. I pulled my coat tighter to compensate for the wind as I turned to Hallie. "That was fun."

"Yeah, we should definitely do it again sometime." She tossed her scarf over her neck. "If you need a ride, I can certainly drive you home."

"Really? That'd be great," I replied with a smile.

"My car's jut this way."

I followed her across the street, down the sidewalk a ways, and then into a dark alley. Perhaps it was all of my experience in the Justice League, or maybe it was just paranoia after having lost my powers. Either way, I knew something was dreadfully wrong. "Hallie . . ."

"Yeah?"

"I think . . ." I trailed off, coming to a dead halt. "There's someone-"

I didn't get the time to finish. He went after Hallie first, materializing out of the shadows to our left. His features were impossible to make out in the darkness, but the knife he held in his left hand gleamed a deadly silver. _Damn!_

My reaction was instinctive. Second nature. He was too far away from me to reach with either a punch or a kick before he got his knife to Hallie's throat, at which point I would be at a serious disadvantage. I did, however, have my handbag.

I twisted my torso like a discus thrower, then sprang, lending my own centripetal force to my purse, which I swung savagely at the attacker's head. My aim was dead on, the edge of the purse striking him right in the corner of his left eye and blinding him for a few crucial seconds.

By now, Hallie was screaming. _Good_, I thought. _Hopefully it'll attract some attention_.

I almost didn't hear the footsteps behind me until it was too late. Regardless, whatever instinct had alerted me to the first attacker also warned me of his friend. I dropped into a crouch, letting the second man's crowbar sail harmlessly over my head. I lunged back with my right foot, sweeping it around and catching the side of his leg. With a surprised grunt, he fell. Hard.

"Run!" I hissed to Hallie as I scrambled to my feet. She nodded quickly and turned to do just that, but the first attacker caught her by the arm, recovered from whatever damage my purse had done. My reaction was swift and brutal, beginning with a vicious side kick to the elbow. It's a strong bone, but I had a stronger kick and two-inch heels can inflict a lot of damage. The elbow snapped at the joint, bending the arm in a way that nature had certainly never intended. He howled, dropping his knife and clutching his injured arm.

Satisfied that he was incapacitated, I turned back to the first attacker's buddy, who was now rising to his feet. Buddy, as I now thought of him, was a big man. Now that I saw him at his full height, I couldn't help but take a step back. He had to have been at least six feet seven. And he was broad too, barrel-chested with almost no neck and powerful-looking arms. He was a giant.

Once upon a time, I could have flicked him all the way to New Jersey. Now, I wasn't so sure. I clearly hadn't lost any of my skill, but I was also unused to fighting without invulnerability, super strength, and magic bullet-deflecting bracelets. If I tried to punch this guy in the face now, I would end up with a handful of broken fingers. Could I take him?

_No time like the present to find out_, I decidedI lunged, jumping into the air and delivering a spinning roundhouse to the side of his head. I've never thrown a better-executed kick. It was beautiful, hitting him right in the side of the head. I'd torqued my hips in midair to allow for the maximum amount of impact force possible. It would have broken a normal man's neck.

It barely fazed Buddy. I landed to the side, staring up in disbelief at the man who was still standing before me. He didn't look hurt, just annoyed. I couldn't believe my eyes. No way I could take him, not head on anyway. I would need a strategy soon.

"Hey!" came Hallie's familiar voice. Buddy turned. Right into the path of the nozzle on the can of Mace she now held. She let loose, spraying Buddy point blank with a never-ending stream of the stuff.

Now he was hurting, a fact that I took immediate advantage of. Instead of trying another head strike, I aimed significantly lower with a powerful back kick. Buddy's knees buckled and he doubled over, right into my uppercut, which him caught in the fleshy underside of his chin. He gagged. I hit him again, driving the palm of my hand into the bottom of his nose with as much force I could muster, shattering something that caused a lot of blood to start pouring. 

I kept hitting him, alternating between punches and kicks until he was on the ground. Buddy did make a number of clumsy attempts to strike, but those were significantly impaired by the pain he was feeling in his face and groin. When he fell, he fell hard and I knocked him out with one last kick to the temple. I did his friend (still moaning over his broken arm) the same favor.

Wiping my brow, I turned back to Hallie, whose mouth was hanging wide open in disbelief.

"Well," I said, breathing heavily and racking my brain for a plausible explanation to give Hallie. "I'm glad I took those kickboxing classes."

Hallie just stared, which would have gotten rather awkward were it not for the voices I heard. Close voices, so someone had heard the commotion.

It was a young couple, the man holding a penlight that did precious little to illuminate anything but his hand. "Hello," he called out. "Is everything alright?"

"We heard a scream," the woman felt compelled to add.

I nodded, thinking about what was about how much I didn't want any police hassles right then. "Two drunks," I said. "They startled my friend."

"Drunks?" the woman asked dubiously.

"Yep. You might want to call the police though. Shouldn't have people like that just wandering the streets." I turned to Hallie. "Lets go."

Despite my outward calm, my heart felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest. When we finally reached Hallie's car, it was hard to keep from just slumping down in the passenger seat and blocking out the rest of the world, now that the adrenaline rush was fading.

"That was amazing," Hallie said at last as we drove away, the serenity of night punctured by the telltale whine of sirens. "I mean, really. That was amazing. It was like . . .right out of Charlie's Angels or something. Where'd you learn to kick ass like that?"

"It was all adrenaline," I said dismissively, eager to change the subject. "Besides, you were the heroine of the day, with that Mace, I mean."

Hallie let out a deep breath as we coasted to a red light. "I've never used it before," she said.

"You've never been mugged?"

Hallie arched a brow. "Of course I've been mugged before- that's why I bought the Mace in the first place." She sighed. "We should have stayed there, given a report to the police."

"You're right," I conceded. "But I'm sick and tired of policemen. I've given enough statements and reports in the past week to last a lifetime."

"But the muggers will just find another victim. You want that on your conscience?"

I thought back to mugger number one, with his shattered forearm. And his friend, who would be needing serious reconstructive surgery after the pummeling I'd given him. "No," I said confidently. "They won't."

Hallie sighed, but didn't argue, opting to simply drive along for a few seconds before turning back to me and asking, "Where do I drop you off again?"

"Wayne Manor."

"Oh." She said nothing for a few moments, then, "I'd heard rumors, but I didn't know you and Bruce were actually living together."

"Its just a temporary arrangement," I said. "From an old friend to an old friend."

* * *

_Bruce _

_Ding Dong _

"Got it!" I called to Alfred as soon as I heard the doorbell. Tossing aside the paperback I'd been reading, I jumped off the couch and opened the door to reveal Diana, a humorless smile on her mouth.

It was all I could do not to ask, "Where have you been?" like I was her mother or something. Not that it was an unreasonable concern though, especially given the multiple attempts on her life that had had happened recently. "Hi, Diana," I said. "Come in."

She did, and from the way she collapsed on the couch, I guessed she'd had a rough day. I sat down opposite her, taking a sip of coffee. "Bad traffic?" I joked.

She shook her head. "No, I just ate dinner with Hallie, that's all. I'm sorry though, I should have called you."

"Hey, its no problem as long as you're okay."

She nodded, and I reached over to grab the second mug of coffee I'd prepared just for her. "Here, have some," I offered. She thanked me and reached out to take the mug, which was when I noticed her hands.

Her knuckles were raw and red, the skin at the tips torn. All around them, the flesh had started to bruise. Her wince of pain when she opened her hand didn't escape my notice either.

I recognized the injuries. I'd seen them on my own hands plenty of times, especially when I was younger and before the benefit of Batman armor and Kevlar gloves. They were kinds of injuries you got from bareknuckle fighting.

"What happened to your hands?" I asked.

Diana froze in mid-sip, peering at me from behind the coffee mug. Slowly she set it down. She looked at her hands. Front, then back. It was the latter that caused her to gasp.

"What happened?" I repeated. "Those are fighting wounds."

"Me and Hallie were attacked by a couple of muggers," she finally answered, still staring at her bloody knuckles. "We had to fight them off."

"Is Hallie okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine," said Diana. "I am too. I didn't even notice my hands until you pointed it out."

"Well, did you call the police?"

"No, I had someone else do that." She looked up at me. "Bruce, I am . . . _really_ sick and tired of police and statements and questioning. I just didn't want to bother with any of that, especially since neither of us was seriously hurt. And it'll be a while before either of them will be on the streets. I made sure of that."

She spoke matter-of-factly , not a hint of a boast. For a brief moment, I wondered exactly how good her combat skills were, without the powers. I didn't doubt that whoever had been stupid enough to try and mug her was sorely regretting it.

"You should have stayed around to make sure the authorities got statements and information. That kind of thing comes in handy in the courts. It could mean the difference between having those guys safely behind bars for the foreseeable future and having them back on the streets." I paused, allowing her to digest this. "That said, I'm glad you're okay."

Diana cracked a smile. "Now that I think about, fight those men, protecting myself and Hallie . . .it felt good. Familiar, you know? That rush, it was almost like I was Wonder Woman again."

"You miss it," I said simply.

She nodded. "More and more every day. I think . . ." she took a breath before plunging on. "I think you should let me join you."

"On the couch?" I asked lamely, a bit confused.

"On patrol. When you're Batman."

I stared at her. "You-you want to be like, the new Robin or something?"

She frowned. "Not a sidekick. A partner."

"You're not serious. You lost your powers, remember?"

Diana's gaze was unwavering. "I'm dead serious," she said. "And-and you of all people should know that you don't have to have superhuman abilities to protect people, to save lives."

"Touché!" Alfred called out from the kitchen. Amazing, he'd been listening the whole time.

I ignored him. "I've trained over a decade to master unarmed combat," I argued.

"And I trained over a millennia," Diana shot back. 'Or did you think we Amazons sat around all day singing songs and braiding each others' hair?"

"It's not just about how well you can punch and kick," I pointed out. "You need training. You need to know how to disarm bombs, pick locks, collect forensic evidence . . .the list goes on."

"You taught Nightwing. You taught Robin. I doubt that either of them is a faster learner than I am."

"I don't work with anyone."

"You mean anyone you can't control. That's why Nightwing left in the first place, isn't it? Having a sidekick is just fine, but a partner? Noooo."

I stared at her, trying not to be angry. Her words bothered me, especially the bit about Nightwing, which she knew was a sore subject. True or not, it was a low blow, especially for her.

The silence stretched on, until Diana finally broke it, reaching out across the space between us to lightly rest her hands on my shoulders. Our eyes met, and she held my gaze with an unwavering calm. "I'm sorry," she began. "I crossed a line. What I'm trying to say is . . .I think that what you do is incredible. Even more so than others in the superhero business, because you don't come from an alien species or have an amazing power ring. But you don't let that stop you from protecting the city you love. And you do a wonderful job of it."

I arched an eyebrow at the unexpected praise. "You're making me blush," I joked, finding that it was very hard to stay miffed at Diana, no matter what she'd said.

She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. But what I'm getting at is that even you can't be there for every murder or kidnapping . . .or mugging. You'd probably need a whole army of Batmen. I'm offering the next best thing. You need a partner, Bruce, and you know I'm qualified. With your training, I could probably be right out there with you in no time. Look at how fast a learner I was with the batarangs."

I didn't say anything. Instead, I looked at her hand, which was still on my shoulder. It felt nice there, like it belonged in a whole different context where we were just sitting down together and enjoying each other's company over a good cup of coffee.

"You're sure this is what you want?" I asked at last.

"For now, yes."

I nodded and stood up, prompting her to follow. She let her hand drop back to her side, looking at me in anticipation. "Follow me," I said

"Where?"

"To the sparring mat in the Cave. You say you spent a thousand years training for combat. I want to see what you've learned."

* * *

When General Philippus burst into Hippolyta's chambers, the Queen of Themyiscera knew instantly that something was wrong. Philippus was decorum incarnate- ; the powerful, dark-skinned woman would never breach etiquette in such a way unless absolutely necessary.

It was when Hippolyta sat up that she noticed everything else. Philippus's eye was swollen and bruising. She was limping, her armor was chipped and scratched, and her right arm hung uselessly at her side, broken.

"Great Hera!" gasped Hippolyta, rushing to support the injured woman. "What happened?"

"One of the Separatists attacked me as I was making my rounds."

"What?" Hippolyta shook her head. "No, it can't be. They would have to be fools to break treaty in such a way."

"It was Sades," said Philippus. "I recognized her from Artemis's entourage."

It was all Hippolyta could do to keep breathing. "Where. . .where is Sades now?"

"I don't know."

"Did you kill her?"

Philippus looked down. "She has my sword, I pinned her to a wall with it. Whether the injury was fatal, I do not know. She gave me no choice."

Hippolyta silently mulled over this distressing news. Sades was an expert combatant, probably one of the best on the entire island, save Philippus, now that Artemis was gone. Sades also had a mean streak, one that had been evident even before the brief civil war that had rocked Themyiscera. She wasn't stupid though, and strong as the enmity between herself and Philippus was, she would not have so flagrantly violated the treaty on a whim. What were the Separatists up to?

"My queen!" came a shout from the outer chambers. Seconds later, the messenger girl Mercede burst into Hippolyta's chambers as well. She was breathing heavily, holding a scroll in her hand. "Awful news, my queen," panted Mercede. "We have received a message from Artemis, conveyed by one of her lieutenants. It is a demand that General Philippus be given into their custody to be tried for the murder of Commander Sades. If these demands are not met . . ."

"Go on," encouraged Hippolyta.

Mercede took a deep breath and nodded. "If these demands are not met, Artemis says that she will attack. Any that stand in her way, should this happen, would be afforded no mercy save death."

Philippus turned back to Hippolyta. "They want another war."

Miles off the coast of Themyiscera, Artemis watched the island of her birth. The island he would soon rule completely.

Behind her, Ares, smiled. He leaned over, so that his mouth was just by her right ear. "Well done, Artemis," he whispered, stepping back and vanishing into the air as if he had never been there at all.

* * *

_Author's note_: Just wanted to say thanks to Kasuchi for her invaluable advice and editorial work, and to whoever is reading this for all your patience with my slow updates. Comments, corrections, etc. welcome. 


	9. Chapter 9

_Diana_

I'll say this much about Bruce: he is _fast_. His moves don't have the same dizzying quickness as the Flash, but try hitting him and you'll start wondering why nothing is actually connecting.

We were sparring, but so far no one had landed a hit. Bruce hadn't even tried; content to let me make an idiot of myself attempting to hit him. Finally, I saw an opening and let loose with a flurry of alternating left-right jabs. He neatly pirouetted out of harm's way and took his first offensive action of the match, sticking his right foot out to trip me. It was juvenile. Childish, even. But it still worked, sending me sprawling toward the ground.

I shot out my left hand to arrest my fall and arced my body, turning the momentum of my descent into a sweep kick that finally connected, though with too little force to have any impact. Still, Bruce looked pleasantly surprised.

I waited there on the floor, glad that I'd had the opportunity to change into my standard workout attire of biking shorts and a T-shirt. I was a sweaty mess. I looked up at Bruce, attired in an undershirt and a pair of sweatpants.

"Aren't you going to help me up?" I asked as innocently as possible, holding out my hand.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Catwoman pulled that trick on me once," he said. "Won't work twice."

Scowling, I hopped to my feet and decided to abandon the punching approach in favor of some footwork, which I was equally adept at. Using kicks would give me the advantage of reach, which I'd been sorely lacking up to this point.

Bruce settled into a Muay Thai form and gave a mocking grin. "Does that really pass for a fighting stance on Themyiscera?" he asked.

Instead of letting the banter continue, I lashed out with my right foot, pivoting on my left and snapping my right leg out into extension, foot angled so that the harder, outer edge would connect.

Bruce batted it away, but it was a surprised move and he was clearly caught off guard. He rubbed the forearm he'd used to deflect the blow, that same impressed expression returning to his face. "That was nice," he complimented all the levity gone from his voice. "Hurt, too."

"It serves you right," I retorted, then launched an identical kick to the one I'd landed seconds before at his head. It was packed with enough force to crush granite.

And it missed entirely. Bruce casually arched backward, casually allowing the kick to pass serenely over his head before snapping back into position, as if he'd never moved at all. I was so shocked I didn't even see his counterattack: a roundhouse kick that caught me just above the temple. For a brief moment, my entire universe consisted of pain, sharp and unyielding, driving through my head like a knife. The sensation of hitting the floor coupled with the realization that I'd fallen stunned me back to reality. I looked up, still woozy from the dull ache in my skull. Bruce wasn't there.

"Behind you," he said. I craned my head and sure enough, there he stood, arms crossed in observation. His kick had spun me one hundred and eighty degrees.

"Ow!" I said, rising to my feet. "Was that really necessary?"

He frowned. "C'mon, Diana. Surely it wasn't that bad. I've seen you get hit by missiles and walk away unscathed."

"Well gee, maybe it's a little different when you're not invulnerable," I shot back through gritted teeth. The sharp pain had gone, but was no replaced with a throbbing headache that surged whenever I talked.

If Bruce minded the sarcasm, he didn't show it. "Getting hit is standard fare for a vigilante. In a perfect world, I could teach you to be so nimble and fast that you never got hit in the first place. In reality, you also have to know how to take a punch-many, if you have to-and still accomplish your objective."

In truth, I already knew all of this from years' worth of being Wonder Woman. My only problem was that I was still thinking like her- the woman I used to be. Now, without my powers, I would have to change my perspective accordingly.

"Do it again," I said. "The kick."

He nodded, and then in a blur of motion he repeated the roundhouse kick. This time, I was ready, ducking down to let the kick fly over me.

"Very good," congratulated Bruce as his striking leg returned to its starting position. Then he launched a front kick straight at my chest.

The instant I saw it coming, I twirled, pivoting on my right foot. I was too slow to completely avoid the blow, but instead of catching me square in the chest it clipped my left shoulder. Painful, but still less effective.

I completed my spin by throwing my right arm into a jab that hit Bruce in the nose. I couldn't believe it at first, but my suspicions evaporated once I saw the blood trickling down his nostrils. _Hera_, I'd actually hit him.

I had about a second to celebrate my momentary victory, and it ended with another explosion of pain as his left leg swung seemingly out of nowhere and clubbed me in the side of the face. I hadn't even the slightest hope of retaining my balance, watching helplessly as the ground rushed up to meet me. Like before it hurt a lot. Unlike before, I couldn't get up.

I frowned. Tried to get up again. No result. It took my scrambled brain a few more seconds to realize that something was preventing me from getting up. Bruce's foot, to be exact, positioned right between my shoulder blades.

I spread out my hands, like I was preparing to do a pushup. "You can let me up now, Bruce," I said breathlessly.

He held me down for another moment, then lifted his foot, allowing me to rise to my feet. We stood there, breathing heavily and staring at one another until I finally spoke.

"Somehow, I thought I was better than that. Even without my powers."

Bruce smiled, resting his hand on my shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short, Diana. You're good. Better than I expected even. But technique tends to fall by the wayside when you're strong enough to juggle cars. Without powers, though, technique is vitally important. You'll have to learn it and learn it well. Good fighters are a dime a dozen out there. You have to be exceptional."

"Think you can make me exceptional?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

"Certainly." Bruce flashed a conspiratorial smile. "To be honest, you're far more skilled than either Robin was when I first began training them."

"I'll be sure to tell Nightwing that when I next see him," I said. "You think I could take him?"

"Who, Nightwing?"

"Yeah. Like if there was some kind of mix-up and we ended up fighting. Who do you think would win?"

"Nightwing," stated Bruce, laughter in his voice.

"What about Huntress?"

"You'd lose."

"Batgirl?"

"She might be a bit rusty, what with studies taking up so much of her time. It'd take her a bit longer to beat you."

"What about the Robin?"

"With or without his bo staff?"

"With."

"You'd lose."

"Without?"

"You'd still lose."

I bit back a laugh at the little improvised game we were playing. "So then, if I'm so bad, how come I was able to hit you?"

He shook his head. "I never said you were bad. Just that you would probably lose if you went head-to-head with seasoned martial artists who are among the best in the world. You're still getting used to not having your powers, but you're an extraordinarily fast learner. You should do just fine."

"Thank you," I said, impulsively hugging him. Something about the way he looked at me, the way he said it. "For everything."

His arms encircled my back and he held me close for a brief second before pulling back to look me in the eyes. "I still have reservations about this, you know," he said.

"But you trust me," I finished for him, letting our foreheads touch.

"Yes, I do."

There was a pregnant silence following this simple, yet powerful statement. He could have kissed me. I certainly wouldn't have minded, and standing there with our faces so close it seemed the natural thing to do. For just a fraction of a second, I thought he would. It seemed to last an eternity.

But he didn't. He merely smiled and gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze. "It's getting late," he said. "We should probably head upstairs, I'm sure Alfred could use the company."

I nodded, trying to hide my disappointment. "What about Alfred?" I asked as we headed up the winding staircase that led to the exit. "Think I could take him?"

He snorted dismissively. "Please. You could bring the whole Justice League with you and lose that fight."

* * *

_Bruce_

"I'm an idiot, Alfred."

"Ah, tell me something I don't know, Master Bruce," came the clipped reply. Alfred, still rearranging various food items in the refrigerator, turned to look at me. "I'm curious though, what was it that finally convinced you?"

I rolled my eyes at the good-natured insult. "It's complicated," I said.

"Oh. So we're talking about the beautiful young woman sleeping upstairs then. Correct?"

"We were just sparring on the mat, just a little match to see how good she was. She wants to be out there with me. Protecting Gotham."

"Yes, I know."

"So that was it, a simple little sparring match, and then all of a sudden I was _this_ close to kissing her."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't."

"Well, I certainly can't fault your conclusion. You are an idiot."

"The opportunity came and went," I continued. "I just don't know if I should have taken it."

"She's in love with you. And vice-versa, even if you have a hard time admitting that to yourself. Back in my day, the answer to that particular scenario was simple" Alfred dropped his paring knife and turned around fully, unfastening his kitchen apron. "Diana is a good woman, you know that. Not only does she know about your identity as Batman, she accepts it. That's puts her leaps and bounds beyond the vast majority of women you've known already."

I nodded.

"Plus," continued Alfred, "The one thing that destroys most of your relationships, if I may be so blunt, is a non-issue, as far as Diana is concerned. You don't have to worry about hiding your secret identity, because she already knows about it and couldn't care less." Alfred arched an eyebrow. "But what am I telling you for? You already know this."

"We work together," I said. It sounded weak, even to my ears.

"I would consider that a boon, not a disadvantage in a relationship. But ultimately, you're the one who has to make that call. It's your life. My only admonishment would be that regardless of how Diana feels about you, a relationship won't simply materialize out of thin air. You have to take part in the process as well, or all of this potential you two have will sit unrealized."

I absorbed his words before speaking. "Thank you for your advice, Alfred."

"You are most certainly welcome, Master Bruce. Somehow though, I get the feeling you're not going to rush up there and confess your love on bended knee."

I laughed. "Is that what they did back in your day, Alfred?"

Alfred sniffed. "Something like that, yes. What does it matter?"

We went back and forth in good-natured conversation for another half hour. Alfred finally ended the conversation with a yawn and a promise that both Diana and I would be amazed the next morning by the breakfast he'd prepare.

So I sat there alone at the kitchen counter, pondering how the dynamic between Diana and I had changed. Somehow, I'd gone from an absolute refusal to explore the possibilities of a relationship with her to . . .this. And suddenly, all of the old excuses I'd made time and time again as to why it couldn't happen seemed laughably pathetic.

Unfortunately, the real world was not long in interrupting my rare moment of introspection. The telephone began ringing, and as soon as I picked up the receiver I knew I was in for an even longer night.

"Batman?" came the Flash's voice.

"Yes."

"Wow, this thing actually works. Never woulda thought-"

"I'm about two seconds away from permanently disconnecting this line, Wally. What is it?"

"Meeting, dude. More spooky mystical stuff, at least according to Dr. Fate."

"I'm sure my presence isn't necessary."

"Supes wants you up there, and as much as I'm sure you'd like to miss it for that very reason, he told me to tell you it involves Themyiscera . . ."

Having my molecules disassembled, shot up through the earth's atmosphere, and reassembled in an orbiting space station is one reason (among others) that I try not to frequent the Watchtower. Even as I stepped out of the teleportation field, I reminded myself why I was here.

Clark, Wally, John, and J'onn were seated at a long, rectangular table, with Dr. Fate at the head. I did a double take when I realized that Hawkgirl . . .Shayera was with them as well. I hadn't seen her much since the Thanagarian invasion, and the new costume was going to take some getting used to. Still, it was nice to see her back in the upper echelon where she belonged.

Artemis was the last person I saw, seated at the far end of the table, a scowl marring her attractive, yet icy features.

"Batman," she said. "Glad you could make it." Her tone implied otherwise.

I ignored her, turning to Wally. "You said something about Themyiscera."

"This is utter nonsense," interjected Artemis. "Conjecture. Honestly, I feel this entire meeting is a waste of the members' time."

"You've expressed your opinion already, Artemis," reprimanded Clark. "How about we let Dr. Fate do the same?"

"Thank you," said Dr. Fate. "I assure you. It is not, nor has it ever been my intention to waste the League's time. I feel the issue at hand is urgent, however, because of whom it concerns. You are familiar with Hades, correct?"

I thought back a few years to the League's battle with Hades. He was a foul, albeit extremely powerful, god who was supposed to be in the Underworld. Forever. "Yes, we are," I said. "But he's sealed behind the gates of Tartarus for eternity." I glanced over at Artemis, half expecting to see the usual bored expression on her face. Instead, there was poorly disguised rapt attention. Hardly surprising, given the subject matter.

"Hades is a very powerful entity," said Dr. Fate. "And I would not underestimate his capabilities, especially given that I believe he has outside help. The identity of this individual is still unclear to me, but I do believe that he has found a way to contact Hades."

"So maybe they got Cingular free nights and weekends," said Flash. "That'll give you a signal just about anywhere. Doesn't mean they're a threat. Whoever Hades' friend is would still need the key to free him. And unless he's got one heckuva locksmith . . ."

Superman nodded. "You say they're communicating," he said. "Do you know what they're talking about?"

Fate shook his head. "Its not as if I have him wiretapped. The mystical arts don't necessarily work that way. I can, however, sense the tendrils of magical communication. All I can tell you is that their correspondence has grown much more frequent over the past few days, and that Hades is amassing an army. In unifying the dead, he's altered the Balance, so I would highly doubt that I am the only sorcerer who has sensed this." He paused for a moment to let all of us absorb this information before dropping another bomb. "My sanctum was attacked yesterday," he stated. "It was a team of metahumam mercenaries, some of whom I believe most of you have dealt with in the past. They attempted to infiltrate the premises and plant explosive devices along structural weak points."

"I'm assuming they weren't successful," John said.

I imagined Fate giving a grim smile underneath the mask. "No, they were not. I detected them and was able to apprehend them fairly easily, even without the help of my more powerful residents. The mercenaries did not know the name of their employer, or even how he could be contacted. I suspect that their purpose was to distract me from my efforts to find our unknown enemy."

It was certainly plausible, I thought, and the M.O. of hiring metahuman mercenaries was uncomfortably familiar. If so, whomever Fate was sensing knew that he was being hunted.

"We should contact Hippolyta," suggested Shayera. "If anything is amiss on Themyiscera, I'm sure that she could provide some insight."

"Excellent idea," interjected Artemis to all of our surprise. "I will go."

"Take Shayera with you," I said.

"Oh, I don't think that would be the best-"

"Of course it would," said John, causing Shayera to arch an eyebrow. "I can think of few women in the League better suited to dealing with magic. Her mace would be an invaluable asset if you encountered trouble while on the island." He turned to Shayera. "That is, if you don't mind."

"Uh, sure," replied Shayera, stammering slightly. I wondered briefly whether they had resumed their relationship, and if he'd told her about their future child.

Artemis, looked angry, but managed to mask it with a congenial smile. "Very well then," acquiesced. "If you will excuse me, I think I'll go rest in my quarters for a bit." She stood up, gave a curt nod, and swiftly exited the room."

Fate stared after her. "I think I liked Diana better," he said.

* * *

"They know everything," hissed Artemis. "Everything!"

"Don't be silly," argued Ares. "If they knew everything, the whole League would be down on Themyiscera right now, and you'd be locked up in a holding cell somewhere with an energy dampener around your neck."

"You said you would take care of Fate. He can see when you talk to Hades, did you know that? He can _sense_ it. Mystical tendrils or something. He also knows Hades is amassing an army. Pretty soon, he'll have figured out that you're the one he's been sensing."

There was a pause on the other end of the connection. "Do they know about your little war on Themyiscera?" His voice was steel.

"No, but they will soon. They decided to send someone over there to see what was going on. I volunteered, but then they insisted Hawkgirl accompany me as well. And we certainly can't let her get in contact with Hippolyta, can we?"

"It would be a problem, but I don't see how this poses any real concern. After all, even the Justice League would be extremely reticent to interfere with the affairs of a sovereign nation."

"Oh, I see. So that whole affair in Kasnia, where Diana and a couple of idiots in bird suits managed to defeat your little secret weapon and create a ceasefire . . .that doesn't count then, hmm?"

Ares frowned. Had their conversation been in person such disrespect would have earned her a brutal slap in the face, but he had to admit that here, she was right. Struggling to restrain his anger, he plastered on an unaffected expression. "In the end, it's of little consequence," he said. By the time the League does manage to interfere, Hades and his army will be free. I'm sure that even Superman and his ilk will find that an army of undead in addition to the combined powers of Hades, myself, and all of the Separatist Amazons to be overwhelming."

"Provided that Hephaestus honors his word."

"He will," said. Ares confidently. "He will."

"And what about that stunt you pulled with Dr. Fate? I imagine you consider that a success."

"Oh, no, it was failure to be sure. I overestimated the abilities of those mercenaries and underestimated Dr. Fate's. I may have to deal with him personally, only time will tell."

The sound of knocking on Artemis's door interrupted the conversation. Artemis lowered her bracelet. "Who is it?" She yelled.

"Shayera," came the reply. "We need to discuss the plan for our mission."

"I need to go," Artemis whispered tersely into the receiver hidden in her gauntlet.

"Maintain regular contact," instructed Ares. "And if Hawkgirl becomes an unnecessary liability, see to it that she has a very, very tragic accident."

* * *

_Diana_

When I saw Bruce the next morning, he looked more tired than usual. There were bags under his eyes and his shoulders were slouched, like he couldn't afford the weight of holding them up.

"You look—"

"Like crap?" he finished for me, a hint of a smile appearing. "Yeah, sleep deprivation'll do that. Transmatter jumps to and from the Watchtower don't really help either."

"You met with the League?"

He nodded, running a hand over his jaw, which had begun to show the beginnings of stubble. "Dr. Fate thinks there's trouble on Themyiscera."

"That's for sure," I muttered.

Bruce shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. "It's Hades."

Any fog in my mind from having just awoken was instantly cleared by those two words. "Hades? Don't tell me he's escaped."

"He hasn't. Yet. Fate thinks he's amassing an army though, and someone on the outside is going to try and help him escape."

"It's impossible though, without the key."

"Let's hope so." Bruce grabbed a mug of coffee that Alfred had probably left for him and took a long, lingering gulp before setting down the container. He tilted his head to the side and stepped closer, peering oddly at my face.

"What?" I asked, backing away unconsciously. "What is it?"

"You've got a nice shiner there," he answered, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. Right there on the side of your head." He winced. "That looks painful.

As if on cue, the throbbing started. And suddenly, a bruise I hadn't even noticed at first was pulsating with pain. Bruce reached up to touch it, and I impulsively slapped his hand away.

"Sorry," he muttered, sounding a bit miffed. "I was just trying to help."

"You were the one who gave this to me in the first place," I shot back. "Where's a mirror?"

"Uh, the bathroom."

"Show me. I forgot where it is," I commanded, surprising even myself with how authoritative my voice sounded.

Bruce let out a sigh and took my by the arm, leading me to the nearest bathroom which was just down the main hall. I immediately rushed in and flipped on the lights, gasping at what I saw in the mirror.

It was a very ugly bruise, the only fortunate aspect of it being that a little over half was covered by my hair. The rest, unfortunately, was in plain sight- black and blue patches of skin that spread across the left edge of my forehead and ran down to the corner of my eye. Gingerly, I ran a finger across the bruise. "Thanks a lot, Bruce, even Prizm didn't do that much damage. I'm having a hard time remembering the days _without_ hideous facial injuries."

"Hey," he protested. "We were sparring. You want to be a masked vigilante, remember? I guarantee you that a little bruise on your face will seem like heaven compared to some of the beatings you're bound to get in the line of duty."

"So how do you explain away all the bruises and scars of _yours_?" I asked. "Don't all those board members and lovers ever get curious about them?"

Bruce flashed a smile. "Of course not. I'm a spoiled billionaire playboy, an adrenaline junkie who's always looking for the latest thrill. Maybe I had a skydiving accident, or a downhill skiing mishap."

"Too bad I'm not much of a skier then."

"But you were mugged yesterday, even Hallie can attest to that. It'll explain away the eye, and the bruises on your hands as well."

I scowled, even as I realized that Bruce was right, and I really had no reason to be angry with him. "You need a shave," I said.

"And you need to get ready for work," replied Bruce with an amused smile. "Oh, and one other thing: I found you an apartment."

* * *

Hallie whistled when she first saw me as I entered her office. "Holy cow, Di. That looks really . . ." she trailed off. "Well, you know."

"Yes, I do."

"How'd you get that?"

"Well, I was mugged yesterday, believe it or not. You might've been there to, come to think of it."

"You didn't get hit in the head though," said Hallie.

"Uh, yes I did." I realized at this point that my lying skills needed drastic improvement. "The big guy, he clipped me right over the temple."

Hallie still looked skeptical. "If you say so. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that you have a video conference in an hour, so go over your notes and stuff." She winced, just as Bruce had done after seeing my bruise. "We're gonna have to do something about that thing on your face though. C'mere."

I stepped forward, wondering what she had in my mind.

"Your hair'll have to come down over the left side of your face more," explained Hallie, reaching up and grabbing a handful of hair. "Lucky for you, you've got lots of it so it shouldn't be a problem." Seemingly from nowhere, she whipped out a comb and set to work on my hair, taking about ten uncomfortable seconds to change it around. She stood back, pocketed the comb, and beamed at me. "Perfect."

"Is it visible?" I asked.

"Not at all."

"I can't see out of my left eye."

"Of course you can. You just see hair, that's all." She patted me on the shoulder. "It looks fine. Trust me."

"I guess I don't have much of a choice."

"True. Don't forget about that conference now."

"I won't," I promised, stepping partway out the door. "Bye, Hallie."

She waved. "Good luck."

* * *

_Bruce_

I had a lot to think about that morning, as I sat in my needlessly large office in front of a blank computer screen. I'd reached a dead end, it seemed, with the weapons theft case for starters, and all the recent publicity regarding the company and myself hadn't helped Wayne Enterprises' stock either. At least that was a problem that would go away on its own, I figured. With time, anyway.

I would also have to break the news to all my staff that the gala had been moved up in schedule, now taking place in only two days. It was the worst of luck, the organizer had told me, but she also assured me that it was either two days from now, or the entire affair would have to be canceled, due to problems with the catering service. I doubted if most of the attendees would react favorably, now realizing that they had a measly forty-eight hours to prepare for the event.

A small icon popped up on my screen, indicating that it was time for lunch break, which I usually spent on the treadmills in the company gym. I had just started rising to my feet when my office phone rang. Puzzled, I picked it up. "Hello."

"Hi Bruce, its Hallie."

"I see. What's up, Hallie?"

"Actually, I was wondering if we could have a small talk . . ."

Well, she'd piqued my interest there. "Certainly. About what?"

"Hard to explain over the phone. Do you know of a place where we could meet?"

"That depends. You up for a workout? I'm headed to the gym right now."

There was a pause on the other end. "Sure. I'll have to get changed first, but I'll meet you down there in about ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay."

"Goodbye, Bruce."

"Bye."

I hung up and strolled over to a doorway on the far side of the office that opened up into an adjacent dressing room. Humming to myself and idly wondering what it was Hallie wanted to talk about, I shrugged on a pair of loose sweatpants, a simple white T-shirt, and some tennis shoes. Swinging a few towels and a water bottle over my shoulder, I walked back into my office and out to the elevator.

When I first had a gymnasium built in the building, it was out of sheer peer pressure. All the other big companies were doing it, or so the saying goes, and I figured that it wouldn't do to be left behind in the latest fad. So I had a state-of-the-art gym installed. Ridiculously expensive and furnished with only the finest of equipment. There was a pool; there were basketball, tennis, and volleyball courts, a weight room, and an adjacent cardio room. The facility was so amazing it had earned mention in several newspaper articles. And it was free for all Wayne enterprises employees. The idea was that they would all be able to get a workout every day, which would not only relieve stress, but also get everyone in better shape physically and mentally. I would, theoretically, have a company made out of lean, fit employees, models of emotional stability. Theoretically.

When the gym first opened, it got three visitors. Two of them were interns, fresh out of high school who simply wanted to splash around in the Olympic-sized swimming pool. The third was a junior-level manager whose only reason for being there was to 'observe' his interns. Not long after, one of the interns would be fired for plain incompetence, and the manager would resign under a growing number of sexual harassment charges.

At any rate, the gym was a complete flop. Whatever the reason, few people in the company felt like using it, so the brand new facility was by and large unused. It was always the first target of any proposed budget cuts, but I always stubbornly refused to scrap it.

True to her word, Hallie soon showed up, and despite my strictly platonic feelings for her, I couldn't help but notice that she cut a very attractive figure in workout gear. She wore a purple sports bra, black spandex leggings, and pristine white sneakers. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, but a few rebellious strands had come free and hung down either side of her face, framing it nicely.

"There is absolutely no one in here but us," she stated.

"True, though I don't know why."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. Treadmills for today?" inquired Hallie seeing that I was standing next one.

"That's the plan. You should probably do some warm-up stretches before starting though."

Hallie laughed, and then shocked me by bending over and placing both hands flat on the ground, knees locked. She turned to the side, outstretched her right foot, and reached for it with both hands until they were firmly clasped around the sole of her sneaker. Then she did the same on the other leg.

"Not bad," I said, starting some stretches of my own. "You're pretty flexible."

"I should hope so, after all those hours spent doing gymnastics in high school." She grinned. "You wouldn't believe the stuff I could do fifteen years ago."

"I'll take your word for it." Done with stretching, I climbed on the treadmill, turned it on, and began a nice, brisk jog. Beside me, Hallie did the same and soon the whir of our machines had blended into a single tone.

"I should do this more often," said Hallie, who still after five minutes hadn't broken out into a sweat.

"Hang out with me or jog on the treadmills?" I asked.

"Both."

We jogged in silence for a few more minutes before I said, "By the way, Hallie, I wanted to talk to you about the gala."

She froze, which wouldn't have been so bad were it not for the fact that she was on a treadmill. Freezing on a treadmill is definitely a bad idea. The treads took her to the very edge and dumped her unceremoniously to the ground before she had a chance to recover. Alarmed, I hit the STOP button on my treadmill and hopped off, rushing over to help Hallie to her feet.

"You okay?" I asked, silently wondering why it was that every woman I was around lately seemed to suffer an unfortunate injury of some sort.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a bit of a fall, that's it. You kinda caught me by surprise, I guess, since that was what I wanted to talk to you about, too."

"Oh," I said, "so you've heard then. About the rescheduling."

Hallie's eyes narrowed, and I knew instantly that she had no idea what I was talking about. "Rescheduling?" she repeated.

"Yes. There were some problems with the original gala date, so it's been moved up to the day after tomorrow."

Hallie stared at me. "You're kidding."

"I wish."

"I-I haven't even bought a dress yet."

"I know, I'm sorry. I really hope you can still make it, though."

"I don't know, Bruce. . ."

I couldn't very well tell her that she was scheduled to receive an award at the event, possibly several. So I simply said, "Please."

A look of indecision flitted across her features before she turned back to look me in the eye. "Under one condition," she said.

"Anything," I told her.

"You have to be my date."

"Oh." _Nice job, Bruce_. The one request that I hadn't expected, though perhaps I should have.

"Well?"

I leaned back against the guardrails of my treadmill. "What about Jenna Cho and Scarlett Mayfield and all the other heiresses and such I've already promised dates to?"

Hallie smirked. "I'd wager you'll have more fun watching how they'll react to rejection then having to spend time with them."

"I don't know," I said. "That Jenna Cho is pretty cute."

It took Hallie a moment to realize I was teasing her. "Well, Mr. Wayne, I'm told that I can be rather 'cute' myself, if that's all you care about."

"It's not," I said sincerely. And though she had been teasing as well, I know her words were certainly true. Even in workout clothes and a ponytail, she was a very attractive woman. And unlike most of my other female acquaintances, she was also a good conversationalist and a pleasure to talk to.

"The media will be all over you," I warned.

"I can handle it," Hallie assured me.

"You won't mind being at the center of attention? Trust me, its not much fun."

Hallie rolled her eyes and placed a hand on my arm. "I can handle it, Bruce," she repeated.

I looked into her eyes and saw that she was absolutely serious. "I believe you," I told her. "You have a date."

Hallie immediately broke out into a relieved smile. "I'm . . .glad," she managed.

"Good. This evening, we can work the arrangements; you can even choose which dress I'm going to buy you."

"I never said you had to—"

I cut her off with a raised hand. "I insist," I said. "I don't want money to be an object, so you go find a dress you want and I'll pay for it. End of discussion."

Hallie still looked as if she wanted to argue the point, but in the end simply said, "That's very sweet of you Bruce."

"You'll still have to do one thing for me though."

"What?"

"Promise me you'll have a good time."

Hallie's eyes twinkled. "I will," she pledged. Then, in one smooth movement, she rose up and gave me a light kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Bruce."

* * *

_Diana_

I came home that evening without Bruce, and found that the large manor I usually found so comforting was now decidedly lonely. Alfred was in the kitchen preparing dinner, leaving me alone in the dining room with plasma screen television that delivered all the regular junk, just with a better picture. Nothing interested me, so I turned the set off and wondered if this was what it would feel like when I had my own apartment.

Bruce had certainly stunned me with the news that he'd found me another place to live. It was inevitable, of course, but after everything I'd been through, small details like that tended to be forgotten. Well, not such a small detail after all, I supposed. In a few weeks, maybe sooner, I'd be moving out.

It wasn't that I was dependent on Bruce – on the contrary, I was more than capable of taking care of myself. But I'd grown accustomed to seeing him every morning and riding with him to work. Bruce, the real Bruce, had a warm and comfortable presence that I realized I would miss sorely once I was gone.

"Nothing good on television?" Alfred wondered, walking into the dining room. "I notice you turned it off rather quickly."

"I didn't see anything worth watching," I said.

"Pity," said Alfred. He sat down on one of the couches and pulled out a compact sketchpad and pencil. "I want to discuss your decision to join Bruce in his . . . nocturnal activities."

"Are you going to try and dissuade me?" I asked.

"Heavens no! Quite the opposite, to be perfectly honest. I think it's a wonderful idea, but you should also plan out how you intend to make this transition. That's what I'm here for." He gave me an odd look, as if just noticing something for the first time. "What have you done with your hair?"

I blushed, wiping back the strands that Hallie had so carefully arranged to cover my bruise. "Its nothing." Then, changing the subject, "What's the sketchbook for?"

"Why sketches, of course," Alfred answered. "Don't pay attention to it for now, just focus on coming up with ideas."

"For what?"

His brow arched in annoyance, even as he began sketching. "I'm getting to that." He paused to add a bit more to whatever he was drawing before looking up again. "For instance, have you considered an identity for yourself? That is, assuming you won't be prancing around in that old outfit of yours and calling yourself Wonder Woman."

I laughed. "No, I don't think so. Dark and scary works well for Bruce, so I think I'll go with that approach."

"Dark and Ominous Woman foils bank robbery," mused Alfred. "It has a ring to it."

I laughed. "How about 'The Prowler'?"

"It makes you sound like a cat burglar."

"Batwoman?" I considered that for a moment, then shook my head. "No, nothing directly associated with the Bat. I want this to be independent, an identity of my own."

Alfred arched an eyebrow. "I suppose that rules out Robin III," he said. Then, more seriously: "What about 'The Prodigal?"

"The what?"

Alfred pursed his lips. "It's from the biblical story of the Prodigal Son," he explained. "A young man who leaves his home to go abroad and enjoy his newfound independence."

"Oh," I said. "How does the story end?"

"Well, the Prodigal Son squanders all of his money and is forced into poverty, begging local farmers to give him some of the food they feed the livestock."

"I'm not sure I like the analogy,"

Alfred made a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry, it has a happy ending. The Prodigal Son returns home and receives his father's welcome, as well as his forgiveness for leaving in the first place."

"And you think that I'm like this Prodigal Son?"

He gave a longsuffering smile. "No, not exactly. But the term 'prodigal', in keeping with that particular tale, could certainly refer to an individual such as yourself, who has left her home for the outside world."

"Prodigal," I said to no one in particular, testing out the word's sound. "The Prodigal." I liked how that sounded. It was a title uniquely my own. "It could work," I told Alfred.

"Excellent. Now, we must discuss your costume."

"Remember, dark and ominous," I said. "I want to be someone that the average criminal hears horror stories about from his friends."

"Ah," replied Alfred. "And you think all it takes to become an urban legend is a scary costume?"

"Well, no."

"Good," said Alfred. "Becoming a legend out there in Gotham will take time and commitment and skill. When you first start out, no one will have heard of you. You'll be just another punk out there in Halloween costume trying to prove herself. You won't be able to count on the criminal element fearing you – more likely they will think you laughable." He smiled. "That said, intimidation is much, much easier when you have an intimidating appearance. Black would be a wise color choice in my opinion."

I chewed my lip thoughtfully for a moment before responding. "How about a cloak," I suggested. "With a hood. It has a sort of Grim Reaper feel to it."

Alfred produced a pencil from his pocket and began sketching with the light, yet purposeful strokes of a practiced artist. I was at the wrong angle unfortunately, to be able to see what his sketch looked like.

"A mask might be of use as well," said Alfred. "To further obscure your features. Don't forget that if you go through with this, you will be in the public eye before long. The last thing you would want is to be recognized by a coworker."

I nodded in agreement, trying to imagine having that particular conversation with Hallie. It wasn't a pleasant thought. "A mask, then. But it would need specialty lenses for night vision and that sort of thing."

Alfred smiled, and I realized that he was still sketching. "Let me see."

He shook his head. "Not yet, Miss Diana. More brainstorming." He looked down at his drawing thoughtfully. "What about equipment?" he asked. "Would you use firearms?"

"Of course not," I said immediately.

"Would you use projectile weapons at all? A crossbow, perhaps?"

I shuddered involuntary. The last thing I wanted was to be seen as a Huntress wannabe. "No crossbows. But throwing weapons would be useful." I considered this further. "Not batarangs though. I think traditional shiruken should be sufficient."

Alfred nodded and took a few moments to draw a bit more. "I assume you would want a utility belt as well," he said. "And I would highly recommend it. You never know when gas pellets or flash grenades will come in handy."

"OK," I said. "We've brainstormed. Now show me what you're drawing."

Alfred hesitated, and at first I thought he was going to refuse. He did, however, hand me the notebook. "They're just sketches," he said.

I took a look. "Liar," I shot back, stunned by the understatement he'd made. Before me, roughly sketched on lined paper, was me. Or at least a representation of me, in the suit that I'd just described. In the sketch, I was wearing a cloak, the upper half of my face obscured by the hood's shadow. The cloak portion was drawn back, like a cape to reveal a heavily shaded bodysuit underneath. "This is incredible," I turned the page, where he had sketched rough pictures of a mask and a utility belt, surrounded by notes.

I took a few more seconds to look at his handiwork, then handed back the notebook. "You're very talented," I complimented Alfred. "You should show them to Bruce. Maybe he could even help me make a uniform like that."

"Both Bruce and myself will be constructing your uniform," Alfred said.

"Just like I specified?"

A puzzled look crossed his face. "You haven't really specified anything, Diana. All we have here are basic design points. When we're finished, it will look similar to this, but there will also be other things that we never got around to discussing."

I shrugged. "Well, I guess I don't mind. Surprise me."

"We will. The suit itself should be completed in the next two or three days, so you won't have that long to wait."

I blinked. "Three days?"

"Three days," repeated Alfred in all seriousness. "Remember, there are dozens of prototypes and designs for the Batman suit kept in the cave, not to mention Kevlar, Nomex, night vision equipment, and so forth. But don't you worry about that, Ms. Prince. Just focus on making sure you are prepared, both physically and mentally, to do this."

"I . . .don't know what to say," I told him honestly. "Thank you."

"You are more than welcome, Miss Diana. Keep in mind, however: the vigilante trade is not as easy as Master Bruce tends to make it look. Knowing how to throw a punch is only a small fraction of what goes into being successful at this sort of thing. You have to know the city, be familiar with the streets and major landmarks. Knowing how to navigate through Gotham is essential. And while I would never expect you to have the criminalistic skills that Master Bruce does, certain abilities will almost certainly save your life or someone else's at some point or another. Learn how to pick a lock, or at least use lock-picking equipment. Computer and hacking skills are invaluable as well."

I listened, intently, taking mental notes. Technological skills were a non-issue for me, and I certainly knew my way around computers. I realized with a start, however, that I honestly didn't know my way around Gotham. I would have no idea where or how to patrol, or even how to locate potential problems. I imagined listening to a police scanner as a policeman screamed that there was an armed robbery going on at Bass and National. I would have no idea where that was, or how to get there.

"Okay," I said. "How do I rectify that?"

"Rectify what?"

"My unfamiliarity with the city. How would you suggest I get to know Gotham?"

"Ah," said Alfred. "Well, that will only come with time, to be honest."

"Oh."

"Of course, you can expedite the process. How does an evening drive sound?"

I grinned. "Seriously?"

"Of course. Master Bruce won't be home for a while, and it would be the perfect opportunity to show you around the city."

I rose, stretching. "Sounds good to me. Better than sitting around here, anyway."

"I thought you might say that."

* * *

General Philippus watched as unit of Separatists emerged from the forest onto the grassy flatland, where Themyiscera's capital was located. She could not deny the nervousness that coiled in her stomach and made involuntary droplets of perspiration form on her forehead. She knew what they were here for.

There were seven of them, all fervent Separatists that she recognized from Artemis's council. Artemis wasn't among them, at the least, and for that Philippus was grateful. She was probably out in Man's World, still masquerading as Wonder Woman. But it was clear she had orchestrated the conflict that was about to take place, even if from afar.

"Greetings, Philippus," said the leader. She was an extraordinarily tall woman, even for an Amazon and stood at a head higher than Philippus, who was by no means short. Philippus remembered her name, Mera, but little else about the dark-haired woman.

"Hello," said Philippus. "It is a beautiful morning, is it not?"

"Indeed," said Mera humorlessly.

Philippus nodded. "Have you come to join me in my exercises?" she asked, knowing full well they had not. More likely, they had gotten word that this was where Philippus went to practice her swordplay and combat, as well as meditate. It was the perfect opportunity to catch her alone.

"We are here to take you into custody for the attempted murder of Sades. You will be tried in a Separatist court and subject to the judgment of Her Majesty, Queen Artemis."

Philippus was sorely tempted to laugh. "Her Majesty Queen Artemis?" she repeated dubiously. "Is that what she's calling herself now?"

"Watch your tongue," warned Mera.

Philippus shook her head. "Artemis is a petty thug and a traitor. She is unfit to bear the name Amazon, as is anyone who would follow her. Tell 'Her Majesty' that neither I, nor any true Amazon recognizes her as Queen of anything, much less Themyiscera."

"I warned you about your tongue," said Mera. "Perhaps I will remove it, once you are in custody." She gestured with her right hand. "Take her."

Philippus drew her sword, readying herself. Despite their immense differences, she was loath to take the blood of a fellow Amazon. Unfortunately she had no choice, she realized, and the real question would be whether she could defend herself against the Separatist traitors. She was an excellent swordswoman and hand-to-hand combatant, perhaps the most skilled on the entire island. However, she was outnumbered and didn't have her armor.

The first attacker, a woman with short, silver hair was the first to reach her, swinging in a wild, downward slash. It was a powerful strike, but lacked any sort of finesse or strategy. Philippus easily pirouetted to the side and allowed the sword to whistle harmlessly past her.

Seeing her own mistake, the silver-haired warrior desperately tried to compensate for her momentum. She was too late. In one smooth horizontal slice, Philippus decapitated her.

The second and third attackers came together, each angling from either side, attempting to surround her. Philippus shifted her sword to a one-handed grip and drew her handblade, a small sword whose length was approximately that of an adult hand.

The one on the right swung first, a sweeping slash that would have bisected Philippus, were it not for her honed reflexes. She ducked low and thrust her sword into the woman's abdomen. She immediately yanked it back out and used the movement's momentum to block the third warrior's overhand blow. Having locked the woman's sword over her head, Philippus lunged with the handblade. At the last second however, the woman twisted to the side, turning what would have been a fatal slash to the carotid artery into a useless miss.

Philippus swore, immediately compensating for her mistake. As she struggled against the woman, their blades locked in a stalemate, Philippus shifted her balance and brought her right foot behind her adversary's left foot. She shoved.

With a startled yelp, the Separatist, fell backward. Frantically, she scrambled away. She was fast, but nowhere near fast enough. Philippus let her put a bit of distance between them before releasing her handblade in a textbook overhand throw.

The handblade spun through the air in a perversely beautiful arc, embedding itself in the Separatists warrior's forehead. She had begun standing to her feet, but now fell flopped limply on the ground, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Philippus bent over and retrieved one of the fallen attackers' swords. She was good with a sword and handblade, but the dual-wielded swords were her discipline of choice. She artfully twirled both blades and turned to Mera and the three remaining warriors. "Who else wishes to die today?"

Mera remained where she was, but the other three needed no further prompting. They sprinted across the field, rapidly closing the distance between themselves and Philippus.

Philippus continued to twirl both blades, faster and faster until the blades were a whir in her ears. They moved in beautiful patterns, leaving gleaming afterimages in their wake. It was an awesome, fearful sight . . .and it was only the prelude.

Philippus launched herself at the attackers, blades spinning frantically now. She was tornado, a twirling dervish of speed and fury. One of her blades met a Separatist's with such force that it sent the Separatist's sword spinning out of her hand. In a blur of movement, Philippus killed the woman where she stood, letting a headless corpse fall back to the ground.

Clearly taken aback by this new, savage fighting style Philippus had adopted, the remaining two Separatists drew back, reassessing their tactic.

Philippus did not intend to give them luxury of preparation. The first woman's body had barely hit the ground before she had resumed her attack, spinning in a dizzying display of skill and footwork. The two warriors were able to block her blows initially, but it was becoming harder and harder. They were overexerting, attempting to completely halt her onslaught when the smart thing to do would have been to divert it.

_Overexertion leads to fatigue_, Philippus thought, executing an aerial backflip and lashing out with her right foot. It connected with taller one's nose, shattering it and stunning the woman herself.

_Fatigue leads to mistakes._ The woman with the broken nose attempted a wild thrust that had no chance in Hades of connecting. Philippus ended her life with a vicious diagonal slash.

The last one decided to run. Had she chosen this course of action two minutes ago, Philippus would have let her live. Now, she was angry and felt nothing but disgust for the sort of traitor who would betray Hippolyta and try to abduct, if not kill, Hippolyta's general.

The woman ran, listening for footsteps behind her. She was frightened, truly running for her life. This was not supposed to have happened. They all knew Philippus was good, but had no inkling that Philippus could kill five trained Amazon warriors without even breaking a-

With a _thunk_, Philippus' sword sunk into the back of her neck. As she pitched over, the Separatist wondered what had happened and why she couldn't feel her body. Then she died.

There was a long silence then, as Philippus and Mera stared at each other.

"I suppose you're going to test your fates with me as well, Mera," Philippus finally said.

"No," Mera replied, surveying the dead bodies of her soldiers. She looked back up at Philippus. "I don't believe I've ever seen this brutal side of you before, Philippus."

"I have no tolerance for traitors," retorted Philippus. "Especially when they are trying to kill me."

"Arrest you," correct Mera. "We are not barbarians. Despite your crimes, you will still be given a fair trial."

Philippus could not believe that the same woman who, minutes before, had talked of cutting out her tongue now professed to be 'civilized'. "I will not be taken to any trial," Philippus stated firmly. "Unless you are going to try to force me. . ."

Mera shook her head. "We could battle. And having seen your formidable display of skill for myself, I suspect you would kill me. But at what cost, General? You would certainly suffer grievous injuries yourself. Perhaps permanent ones. Is that what you want?"

Philippus considered this a moment before speaking. "Leave, Mera. Or I will kill you."

Mera nodded in acceptance. "Your time will come, Philippus. As will Hippolyta's. And when our forces meet yours in battle, I will search for you in particular. I will bring the best warriors in our forces and array them all against you. They will weaken you, but only so that you may die by hand. That, Philippus, is a promise."

And with that, she left, vanishing back into the forest from which she'd come.


	10. Chapter 10

Hephaestus wasn't surprised in the least when Ares suddenly appeared in a flash of sulfur and brimstone. He was working on a battle scythe, honing the blade of the inward curve to perfection. It was a delicate task, but when it came to his prized creations Hephaestus would only accept the best. Masterful balance, the perfect blend of alloys, the finest components, and of course a dash of magic. . .his masterpieces were the pinnacle of perfection, even by immortal standards.

So rather than turn around and acknowledge the intrusion, he held the red hot blade up to the light of his forge's flames. It was a wicked instrument, and it was finally perfect. Only after ensuring this fact did the Blacksmith of the gods turn around.

Ares had never mastered the art of concealing his emotions- his annoyance radiated off of him like a raging inferno. "You know why I'm here," he growled. "Pray, do not disappoint me."

Hephaestus smirked. "As promised, Ares." He gestured to the far wall of his cavernous workshop, where shelves had been removed and replaced with a makeshift display stand. Atop it sat an object that seemingly defied all conventions of aesthetics or practicality. Ares could barely stop from drooling. _At last. . ._

He approached the object, walking slowly around the perimeter of the stand. It looked remarkably similar to the original. If Hephaestus could be trusted- and when it came to his work, he always could, it would work even better.

He had the key to the Gates of Tartarus at last. The one being in existence capable of constructing a new one had done so, and now Ares was at the cusp of success in his grand design. He reached to pick up the unwieldy object, and the next thing he knew he was airborne, flung away by a protective field that would have reduced most mortals to ionized particles. Being a god, he was merely stunned into near-unconsciousness.

Flames raged around his countenance as he sprung to his feet. "What is the meaning of this!" he roared.

Hephaestus shrugged. "I'm not sure if I want to give it to you," he said in a measured tone.

"You gave your word-"

"That I would construct a key. And indeed I have. I said nothing about surrendering it to you."

"You duplicitous. . ." charged energy pockets began to form at his fingertips. With a thunderous explosion he released it all in a blast aimed straight for Hephaestus.

Who proceeded to _catch _the discharge and dissipate it with the casual nonchalance of a child brushing away a fruit fly. "I wouldn't try that again, pretty-boy. This is _my_ realm, remember. Down here, I answer to no one, not even you. And besides, I didn't say I wouldn't hand it over. All I _really_ need to know is how you're going to compensate me."

"For doing the very thing that you literally _exist_ for? Why should I?"

"Because this isn't just some indestructible suit of armor. I'm giving you the keys to Hades itself. Whatever you have planned, and please spare me those details, this realm will never be the same again. The other gods will not be pleased, and it needs to be _very _worth my while to get on their collective bad side."

Ares mused over this for a moment, and then shrugged. "Name your price then."

"I want the exclusive manufacturing rights for all armor and weapons your army uses."

"Done."

"I also want you to keep some of the mortals alive. I could use some. . .assistants down here."

"All of the human slave labor you could want," assured Ares. "Anything else?"

"Just one little thing." Hephaestus looked his fellow immortal dead in the eye. "The death mark against Diana is to be lifted immediately. I want her alive."

Ares snorted. "What on earth. . .I will provide you with concubines far more beautiful than that failure of an Amazon, her life is-"

"Important to me," Hephaestus said. "And while I highly doubt you could find greater beauty in a dozen millennia, that's not why I want her alive. Truth be told, she's one of the few topside friends I have." He paused, as if surprised that he'd admitted that aloud. "She lives, and that is _not_ negotiable."

Ares considered this very carefully. An agreement, once struck, was completely binding. It was an inviolable law amongst the gods, and so thus it was very wise to ponder the implications. He wanted Diana dead, but not badly enough to sacrifice his entire plan. In the end he assented, holding out his hand.

The other god shook it, and a pact was made. As Ares ascended from the realm of Hephaestus, his prized Key in tow, he contemplated all the delightfully wicked torments he could inflict on Diana without actually killing her. Hephaestus wasn't the only one who could create loopholes. . .

****************************************************************************

* * *

"So you buy into this whole 'men are evil' philosophy too then," said Shayera. More of a statement than a question. Still, it was the first thing either one of them had said during the flight to Themyiscera and it caught Artemis off guard.

Blinking in surprise- most members of the Justice League would never willingly talk to her- Artemis struggled to find a response. "It is a bit more complex than that," she found herself saying.

"Uh-huh."

"Men are base creatures," Artemis elaborated defensively. "Not so much evil as unrestrained. Savage. The history of your world is littered with the atrocities of man. And ours. . . "

Shayera let out a low whistle at the firm conviction in Artemis' voice. "You know, Hades might have been a real prick, but using his actions in the past to justify a prohibition on men seems a bit extreme. Kind of a cop-out too." She thought she saw something shift in the Amazon's expression when she mentioned Hades, but as soon as it appeared it was gone.

Hippolyta learned a hard lesson about trusting men," said Artemis simply. "As we learned about trusting her."

Shayera frowned. "We?"

"Those of us still loyal to the Amazon way," Artemis said in a measured tone. "You should know, before we arrive, that all has not been well on Themyiscera. Hippolyta's actions have only grown more untrustworthy. I was forced to take it upon myself to institute more capable leadership."

"By force?"

The Amazon woman nodded, shifting a bit in her own seat. If what she was divulging to Shayera right now was a secret, it wouldn't be one for very long. Besides, there wasn't much of a chance that Hawkgirl would survive the return trip if she got in the way. Shame, since Shayera was one of the few Leaguers who hadn't immediately judged her on her arrival. Given Artemis' intentions, that wasn't necessarily a good thing for Hawkgirl, but she appreciated the other woman's acceptance nonetheless.

"So, cutting through all the nice talk and political bullshit, you guys had a war down there."

"An internal conflict, yes."

Shayera gawked at her. "And you didn't think to mention any of this to the rest of the League?"

Artemis gave her a pointed look. "Themyiscera is a sovereign nation, capable of sorting out its _own _affairs. I didn't tell them because I feel it's none of their business."

"Doesn't what Dr. Fate said _make_ it our business?"

"If he is correct. You accuse me of speaking 'politically', but _that_ man's evasions and vague half-answers could hardly be described otherwise. 'Mystical tendrils of magical communication'. . .all impossible nonsense. And the League will need a better excuse than that to invade Themyiscera."

Shayera nodded. "Hmm."

"What does that mean."

"It means you have an interesting perspective on this whole mess," Shayera told her. "Now we'll see if Hippolyta shares it." With that, she keyed off the aircraft's autopilot, while simultaneously climbing into the pilot's seat. It was a necessary action because of Themyiscera's invisibility to technological detection. The landing would have to be done manually.

Meanwhile, Artemis pondered her words. Shayera might be easier to get along with than the rest of the League, but the woman clearly had her wits about her. It wouldn't take the Thanagarian long to realize that something was very, very, wrong on Themyiscera. And while she doubted Hippolyta knew about Ares' role in the whole affair, it would be most unwise to underestimate her resources. If Hippolyta knew enough to force the League's intervention too soon. And told Shayera. . .

She promised herself to at least give the winged woman a quick and honorable death, if it came to that.

*

*

* * *

**_Diana_**

I awoke the next morning so hungry that it literally hurt. _All that time driving around the city last night and you couldn't even grab a decent bite to eat. ._

Still, it had been an instructive night on the town with Alfred. We'd taken one of Bruce's many luxury vehicles, a sleek black Maserati Quattroporte. The brand of course meant nothing to me, but as it turns out Alfred is something of an autophile and couldn't resist a brief lecture on the wonders of 200,000 dollar cars.

I looked around for something I could throw on over my underwear, but the closet was still horribly unorganized and I was just running downstairs for a snack after all. According to a message I'd found after getting back last night, Hallie didn't even need me to show up for work today.

Nothing I could find was causal enough to wear for a mere snack raid. I was reminded of the fact that before me, this room had been where Bruce's, erm, female companions spent the night. The layout, the wardrobe. . .it was geared toward heiresses. . .and national news anchors too judging by all the pantsuits that were so generously provided. Definitely not my style.

Grudgingly, I trawled through the entire closet's contents until I found something suitable. It was one of his dress shirts, freshly starched and ready to go for any pressing post-coital engagements. I was surprised at the bout of jealousy that thought brought on. The billionaire playboy thing might've been act, but even actors had to play their part. Not that I should be getting agitated over his past trysts. . .

I threw on the shirt. It was a bit too big, but not by a lot. Didn't leave very much to the imagination , but then again neither had my old armor. My stomach growled again. _Time to feast._

The manor felt empty, with none of the telltale signs of human presence. No doors opening or the tread of footsteps on stained wood floor. Bruce was probably off to Gods know where, and Alfred had elected to pay this Leslie woman another visit last night after my tour of Gotham. I chuckled to myself as I rifled through Bruce's fridge. _Go Alfred. _The sly dog. . .

I settled on scrambled eggs, which smelled so good while frying that I wanted to cry. When they were done at last, I poured myself a tall cup of orange juice and dug in. I was halfway through wolfing down the plate when I noticed Bruce out of the corner of my eye, leaning against the door jamb that led to the kitchen. The man could be as silent as a panther when he chose

"Hey Bwuce," I managed through a mouthful of eggs. I swallowed it down with the OJ. "Havin' fun watching me eat?"

I would've sworn I saw a twinkle in his eye. "Actually, yes. You have eaten this year, right?"

"Not enough," I muttered, helping myself to another spoonful."

He paused. "Is that my shirt you're wearing?"

"Yup." At least he didn't look too mad about it. Far from, if the appreciative look at my legs that he failed to conceal was any indication.

"You should keep it," he said, laughter in his voice. "You look much better in it than I ever did anyway."

I gave him my best 'oh stop it, you' look. Enjoyable as the compliment was, I could tell that he was very used to giving it and I didn't need (or want) him slipping into playboy mode with me. "What've you been up to?" I asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Working on you new costume, actually. The shiruken you asked for were hard to find, so I went ahead and constructed some for you. I think you'll like them, although they're lighter than my batarangs and behave differently in flight. You'll have to get used to that."

I nodded. "Definitely, and thanks Bruce."

He gestured to my plate. "Almost done?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Sparring practice."

I winced reflexively. "Again?"

"Yep. Before was just the warmup."

I sighed, knowing he was right to push my training, but also saddened as I watched my beautiful, relaxing morning sail away. "How long?"

His look suggested the answer should have been obvious "However long it takes."

*****

It was a powerful sense of déjà vu, being back on the sparring mat with Bruce. He was magnificently shirtless, lean yet muscular and exuding the unmistakable ambiance of a warrior. I'd probably have been turned on if it weren't for the pain I knew I was about to be in for. _Ah well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Or just maims you for life. One of the two. .._

He gave me a bow, which I knew was a habit he'd picked up from all those eastern martial arts he'd mastered. The concept was completely foreign to the Greeks- why bow to your opponent? Such deference and respect is accorded only after they have acquitted themselves in battle, or died. Not before.

But the whole point was to learn other disciplines of combat. As remarkable as my own Grecian style was, it had become hopelessly stunted from millennia of stagnancy, of only fighting the same fighters and never incorporating techniques from the outside world. I sighed, and returned his bow, watching carefully as he settled into a jiu jitsu stance. So he wanted to grapple. . .

I shifted my center of gravity, keeping it low. 'As long as it takes', he'd said. _As long as it takes to beat you Bruce. To show you that I'm ready._

And then he charged.

*

*

* * *

There was something different about a place that had no men. Shayera couldn't describe the feeling, but it was there nonetheless. It made her horribly uncomfortable, walking through the Amazon capital city. She appreciated her fellow women, without question. But the presence of men simply added a balance that was disconcertingly absent here.

Her nerves weren't helped at all by the stares that she and Artemis were receiving as they walked through the capital city and toward Hippolyta's palace. The looks reminded her of the baleful glowers that Mari, John Stewart's new girlfriend, often shot her way. Even had Artemis not told her of the situation, the divide amongst the Amazons would have been simple to pick up on.

As they ascended the steps, two tall, powerful looking women stepped in front of them, crossing their wickedly pointed spears. The disgust on their faces was almost overpowering.

"Artemis," one of them snarled. "You _dare_ come here after what you've done?"

"Out of my way," commanded Artemis, her voice as hard and sharp as a steel blade. "Regardless of what has transpired here, I bring a guest from the esteemed Justice League. Hippolyta cannot turn down an audience with myself or of Shayera Hol, the warrior known as Hawkgirl."

For the first time, the palace guards looked at her. Shayera found herself wishing that they wouldn't. Being grouped with someone as thoroughly despised around here as Artemis couldn't be good for your health.

Just in case, she surreptitiously hefted her mace.

"Lirael, Sythnos, give way," came a command from behind the two guards. It was Hippolyta, beautiful and regal stateswoman in white robes and a sparkling gold crown that contrasted sharply with the longsword at her hip, Shayera noticed. In warrior societies, even queens armed themselves apparently.

At the sound of their liege's voice, both guards retreated, permitting Artemis and Shayera to reach the height of the palace. At the top waited Hippolyta, whose expression betrayed absolutely nothing.

"Shayera Hol," said the queen, affording a gracious smile. "We are honored by your visit."

"Thank you," Shayera replied.

"I am curious though," continued the queen, "what brings you to our island?"

"I am simply here to ascertain the truth," said Shayera. "We in the League have heard disturbing reports about Themyiscera. Reports that if true would threaten the world beyond your borders."

"Ah." Hippolyta turned to Artemis. "You must leave us alone now," she said.

"I'm afraid that's simply out of the question," objected Artemis. Hawkgirl shot her a look that yelled, 'what are you doing?' but what the Thanagarian didn't know was that Artemis was trying to protect her. A quick discussion with Artemis there to moderate had limited fallout. But if Hippolyta got Shayera alone. . .

Artemis would have to kill her. There was just no telling what Hippolyta knew or even suspected. But if the queen's suspicions were just slightly on-target, certain things would start making a lot more sense the League and the Separatists, along with Ares would find themselves fatally compromised by an army of superheroes.

Oblivious to Artemis' internal conflict, Shayera stepped away from her, crossing her arms. "It's alright," she said firmly. "Hippolyta and I can speak alone."

"But you are my guest-"

"No, she is mine," Hippolyta countered, her regal tone brooking no further interruption. "You haven't overthrown me yet, Artemis. I am still queen here."

Artemis' eyes narrowed dangerously. She was sorely tempted to rejoinder with 'for now', but knew that it woud come across as more childish than anything. She was in Hippolyta's territory with none of her own forces close enough to do any good. Her new powers would no doubt aid her if violence broke out, but by striking down her fellow sisters with them she would incur the wrath of the very gods who had bestowed them.

She had no choice. "I will be waiting back at the Javelin," she told Shayera.

A nod. "This shouldn't take long."

*

*

* * *

_**Diana**_

Bruce moved first, going low to tackle my legs right from under me. I leapt over the bold attack, reversing our positions. I saw approval flash in his eyes, but that wasn't enough anymore.

I wanted to see respect. This time I attacked first with a sweep kick that fell purposely short of Bruce's leg. He immediately tried to counterattack, falsely believing that I'd committed to the blow.

I hadn't. Even if my sweep had connected, it would have merely glanced off. I'd held my body in reserve, feigning clumsiness in he came in close and got careless. Which is exactly what he did. The roundhouse kick he sent my way was textbook perfect, but so was my dodge. I whipped my body to the left so that the kick would miss me, then transferred that extra momentum into a kick of my own that caught him in the ribs.

This time, his eyes registered pain. Stupidly, I tried to kick him again in the exact same spot, but he caught my foot, and used the hard-earned leverage to flip me off balance. I landed painfully on my back, just in time to see and feel Bruce land on me.

The guy was like a damn octopus- arms and legs everywhere. He was trying for a joint lock, the jiu jitsu back in full force. If he achieved one, I knew, I'd either have to forfeit or experience one of the most painful forms of dislocation known to man.

Desperately, I rolled, careful not to let him hook an arm under mine. Once he separated my arms from my sides, the fight would be over. Unless I got to him first. Spurred on by a sudden burst of adrenaline, I managed to trap one of his hands between my arms and my body and twist, forcing him to roll over and allow me on top (or suffer a broken elbow).

I socked him in the face, using the hard outer edge of my hand as the impact surface, just like Bruce had taught me. Despite the pain I knew he was feeling, his eyes were practically dancing. He looked like an art teacher whose student had just created another Mona Lisa.

Except that my style was far more abstract, an eclectic mix of Grecian combat and Japanese and Chinese styles that I was picking up by observation. My canvas was the sparring mat, and damn if I wasn't painting a masterpiece.

I guess my blows really started to hurt after the third one, because that's when he finally threw me off of him and flipped to a standing stance. I was a lot more clumsy in getting to my feet, but I could still see the concession he was making. I'd proven myself on the ground.

Now he wanted to see if I was any good on my feet. He launched a snap kick that, only two days ago would have connected and rendered me in total awe (after I woke up of course). Today, it almost looked a little sloppy. I sidestepped the kick with minimal effort and brought up a swinging kick to his rib. He torqued, blocking it on his hip.

Then he did something unorthodox: he leapt at me. Airborne, at first, and then I felt the first kick, right in the chest. Like a mule. The second kick caught me in the shoulder and spun me until another final tick knocked me on my ass.

I looked at Bruce in abject disbelief. He'd kicked me three times. . .while he was _airborne. _

I did a quick backwards roll that put some distance between us, both impressed at the display and pissed at Bruce for showing off. Still, there was an added clarity that pain was bringing to my mind. I realized that even looking at Bruce's stance, the way he shifted his weight. . .I could almost read his next move.

_Feint_, I thought to myself and sure enough he threw a light jab that clearly hadn't been intended to hit me. Had I reacted, dodging to the side I would have been caught with a nasty surprise kick for my efforts, so instead I just let the punch pass just short of my head without so much of a blink.

I instinctively fired a high kick at his head. He blocked it with a forearm and spun in, trying to penetrate my defense. So I spun out, like a ballerina skillfully avoiding an unwanted partner. Punched again, and this time it connected.

We went back and forth like that for another hour, exchanging blows, grappling and most importantly for me, practicing the strategy of combat. As Wonder Woman, it had been a simple hit them harder than they hit you approach. I was beginning to realize that Bruce saw it as more of a chess game, in which the strategy of timing your opponent, deceiving them, and using their own strategies against them secured victory.

Bruce had been right about another thing: I am a fast learner. I was memorizing his moves and throwing them back at him at surprise intervals, often with my own little twist. By our tenth round, I'd managed to hit him as often as he'd hit me. Something I would've said was impossible even just yesterday.

We were both sweating after such an intense workout, not to mention a little bit sore. Bruce was holding his forearm gingerly, the result of mistakenly trying to block all of my kicks. I grinned. "Want a band aid for that, Bruce?"

"This?" he shrugged nonchalantly. "It's nothing."

"You sure? Looks pretty painful to me. . ."

He looked down at the forearm again. It was starting to turn some interesting colors. A sigh. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Watching you in a little bit of pain? Perversely, yes. Only because I was the one who caused it, of course."

He laughed, and something about the deep sound of it knocked him squarely out of Bruce the Opponent mode into Bruce _Oh Gods He's Gorgeous_ territory. _Don't look at his bod don't look- damn! _Some self-control I had. Practically drooling over the man like a Doberman.

Bruce approached me, mock offended at my words. "You've developed a little mean streak, Diana."

I shrugged. "What can I say? Learned from the best."

"Well I like it."

_Whoa_, he was close now. Reeking (in the best possible way) of masculinity and testosterone. Unbidden, the memory of a Cosmo article I'd once read sprang to mind. How humans release certain pheromones that act as aphrodisiacs (a term that Aphrodite by all accounts loathes) after physical exercise. Of course, knowing that intellectually was no defense against the sudden rush of lightheadedness I was beginning to feel.

"You've progressed quite a bit," he was saying, pride evident in his voice. "To have gained as much ground as you did in one hour. . .it's incredible."

To my horror, I found myself blushing. Hard. "You probably say that to all the women you spar with," a voice that was so cool and flirtatious I hardly recognized it as my own said.

He stepped closer, his eyes boring straight into mine. "No," he stated simply. "Not all."

And then we were past the point of no return. I honestly couldn't have stopped drifting to him with anything short of a proton field between us. We touched. Pressed together. His arms moved slowly around my waist, and before I knew it, my hands were splayed across his chest, lightly tracing the musculature to his shoulders and back to the rock-solid pectorals.

He pulled me even closer, if that were possible. It felt like the only parts of our bodies not touching were our lips. It was the most incredibly sensual thing I'd ever experienced. My hands were trembling.

I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. "Just kiss me."

*

*

* * *

"Please," Hippolyta entreated the winged woman. "Sit."

Shayera complied, seating herself on a thronelike chair across from the queen's. With Artemis' reluctant departure, the two had gone to Hippolyta's private conference room for their discussion.

Hippolyta's next words took Shayera by complete surprise. "You should not have come."

"Excuse me?"

Hippolyta looked up at her with a pained expression. "Don't you see, by coming here you've doomed yourself. Artemis won't let you leave. She can't."

Shayera looked stricken. "Please, explain."

"I am afraid that would take far too much time. Suffice to say that while Artemis has been serving as your Wonder Woman, she has been orchestrating events here to unseat me from the throne. Recently, she sent one of her own warriors to attack my general Philippus. The warrior died, but now Artemis and the rest of her Separatists demand blood. It is a calculated move, you see. They know I could never hand Philippus over to them, but they still make the demand so that they can use my refusal as a pretext for war. I fear an attack is imminent."

Shayera's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "I still don't understand why you think I'm in danger. Even granted that what you say is true. . .the Justice League wouldn't intervene in the affairs of Themyiscera. Not unless the situation could threaten the outside world."

Hippolyta nodded. "I would not have it any other way. If civil war breaks out, it is our fight and no one else's. But you must keep in mind that if I and those loyal to me should fall, Artemis will gain more than the throne. She will gain access to everything that we safeguard."

"Such as the Gates of Tartarus," mused Shayera.

"Yes."

"That's actually one of our chief concerns. Dr. Fate, a sorcerer working with the League, has been picking up signals that emanate from Hades' domain."

"Well I'd hardly call it a domain. More of a prison, really. . ."

"According to Dr. Fate, Hades is gathering an army down there."

She watched Hippolyta try to connect the pieces of information in her head. "I doubt that Artemis' care is a safe place for the Gates of Tartarus," said the queen, "but I honestly don't think that Hades' escape is a credible threat. We certainly won't be bested again by the likes of Felix Faust, and no other key like the one he used exists. With the Annihilator armor also destroyed, it would seem that the Gates are quite secure."

"Yet you think that Artemis might have other plans for the Gates?"

"Rumors abound. I know she plans to use it for something, but I haven't the slightest idea what. And as I have said, without the key such notions are mere dreams. Nothing more."

"We hope," said Shayera. "Still, I think you overestimate her ruthlessness. From what you've told me, her actions clearly violate League charter. She might lose her membership. But killing me? She couldn't hope to get away with it. Even if the League knew about her attempted takeover, they wouldn't be able to step in." Shayera rose to leave. "Besides, I'm an honored guest."

*

*

* * *

_**Diana**_

I had a million thoughts running through my head as his mouth descended. From the kiss we'd shared during the Thanagarian invasion to the rather awkward thought that I hadn't had time to brush my teeth that morning (Bruce had whisked me down to the Cave right after breakfast)

And then we were kissing. My brain froze at first, as I tried to remember exactly what to do. I was woefully out of practice.

But then, kissing isn't strategy. It's not sparring. And once I let go of my anxieties and just kissed him back, the sensation rocketed from zero to a million in about two seconds. His tongue lightly teased my lower lip, and I could feel his smile as I responded eagerly, returning the favor and then some. The feel of his mouth was new and exciting, and we were kissing each so thoroughly that I couldn't conceive of ever pulling away. I could feel it everywhere, my entire body suddenly tingling.

I shuddered involuntarily when his hand on my back dropped lower. Low enough that I had the sudden and somewhat uncharacteristic urge to throw him on the ground, get rid of all these pesky _clothes_, and-

Right then, the Cave's alert klaxons went off, drowning the intimate silence in high pitched wail. Someone important must've been outside for an unscheduled meeting with Bruce.

Bruce pulled back just enough to be able to speak without my lips getting in the way, indecision flitting through his eyes. "Computer." His voice was ragged, breathless. His face was still just inches from mine. "Identify visitor."

"James Gordon, GCPD," came the computer's clipped reply. "Status urgent."

He didn't move at first, though he was clearly none too happy with Gordon's timing. I wasn't either. Part of me fantasized that the good Commissioner could surely wait upstairs long enough for Bruce and I to. . .I shot a quick glance at the sparring mat. Not the most ideal of places but hell, for Bruce. . ._Stop it Diana!_

I pulled back, making the decision for him. "You should go see what he wants," I told him, trying to calm down my body, which was clearly disappointed in me for so abruptly ending the fun. "He might have some leads on your missing Hyperion launcher."

He nodded. "Yes. I mean, of course." A nervous chuckle. He looked quickly around, as if suddenly aware that he was shirtless and a little embarrassed about it. I can't lie, it was hopelessly endearing.

"But later," I said, placing a hand on his arm. I let the last word trail off, hoping he would understand.

"Definitely. " He flashed me a rakish grin and then took off to meet his waiting guest.

Suddenly exhausted, emotionally and physically, I plopped down on the ground. Ever since our early days together, as far back as Gorilla City part of me had wondered what it would feel like to be in Bruce's arms, locked in a soul-searing kiss. I'd even fantasized about it at times, a warm and exciting dream that seemed completely out of the realm of possibility.

But somewhere in those fantasies, alongside the passionate kisses and. . .other things, we'd at least talked. Discussed our feelings for one another. My mind flashed back to the closet, with all the pre-prepared clothes for Bruce's one-night stands. I didn't _think_ Bruce saw me as one of those women.

But I didn't know. How many others had been in my position, held in his arms and convincing themselves that they were different, that they would be the woman to claim his heart.

True, they didn't know about his secret like I did. Hadn't fought alongside him in battle or seen him sing the blues while in full Batman regalia (via recording since I'd been a pig at the time). Was I really so special though? So often I tried to read behind the masks Bruce wore, both in and out of costume. Tried to discern the answer to that very question. It was like attepting to read ancient Greek (metaphorically, of course).

I let myself fall back so that I was staring at the Cave's jagged ceiling, past the fluorescent lights that extended in web-like patterns below the actual rock. I didn't want Bruce the playboy. I just wanted Bruce. I might not know what was happening 'later', but before any of that, we'd have to talk. It was that simple.

Tenderly, I got back up, doing some basic post-workout stretches. I had a feeling whatever Bruce was talking about with the Commissioner would take a while, and I wanted to get in some practice with those shiruken he'd mentioned in the meantime.

Whew. _Some morning…_

*

*

* * *

When Shayera stepped into the clearing that held the Javelin, she was greeted with a rather extraordinary welcome committee. Dozens of Amazon warriors, to be precise. Armed with longbows.

The longbows were pointed at her.

The Thanagarian's eyes hardened. "Artemis," she called out to the group's clear leader. "What is this?"

Artemis, her own bow sheathed, let out a sigh. "I am sorry, Shayera. But we cannot let you leave." At her words, the sound of bowstrings being tightened was palpable. "You know too much. If you report back to the League, our plans will be doomed. I simply cannot allow that."

Shayera pointed an angry finger at the taller woman. "Be reasonable, Artemis. You know the League will stay out of your little turf war. But if you kill me, how the hell do you expect to get away with it?"

"Claiming my rightful rule of Themyiscera is only a small part of the picture," Artemis said. It is a goal that can only be accomplished through. . .extreme measures."

"Extreme. . ." Shayera's puzzlement molted into annoyed impatience. "Artemis, what are you talking about?"

"She's trying to tell you," came a deep voice from behind Shayera, "that in order to cement her place on the throne, she's had to make alliances with. . .what's the word. . .villains such as myself."

Shayera turned around, slowly, shocked at hearing a man's voice on the island. Then she recognized the speaker. "Ares!"

He clapped softly. "Very good, though I don't think I've had the pleasure of making _your _acquaintance Ms. . .Shayera, if I've heard correctly?"

Shayera whirled back on Artemis, ignoring the man behind her. "How could you, Artemis?"

"Sacrifices must be made-"

"Bullshit," spat Shayera.

"I'm inclined to agree with this lovely creature on that point," added Ares. "Come now Artemis, don't act as though our partnership hasn't been to your liking as well. Why, I've given you the power of the gods. Stolen straight from that self-righteous, meddling whore of a princess. Diana." He said her name in the tone that most people used when saying 'infectious disease' or 'vermin'.

"What are you planning?" demanded Shayera, this time addressing her question to Ares. He looked at her, amusement in his inhuman eyes as he decided how to answer.

"Seeing as how you're not leaving this island alive, I suppose it can't hurt to tell you." He smiled conspiratorially. "My dear, this world has lost much of it's . . .respect for the violence and chaos that make humans so darned fun in the first place. Observing this species is honestly like watching a lion, such a perfect killing machine, switch to an all-berry diet. It's ridiculous. Comical even, except for the fact that my own powers seem to rely on humans' exercising their more primitive instincts

"Oh, I had such high hopes for the species. The twentieth century especially, what with its tanks, machine guns and nuclear weapons. So full of promise. But then this backlash occurred. United Nations, peace talks, disarmament treaties and the like. They haven't even had the stomach for a decent world war in sixty years." He slammed a fist into his palm, clearly agitated that he even had to bring up such a disgrace. "I've done what I could to staunch this tide of _goodwill_, but my own efforts have been rather pathetic. A civil war in this small country or a coup in that one. Child's play! From now on, it's back to basics. Widespread chaos and destruction on every continent."

His expression was positively chilling. "Once I free Hades and his army, that's exactly what I'll have."

Shayera snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that, Blondie. Unless you've got a spare Annihilator lying around I doubt even you could break him out."

"Oh, even better." He gestured with his hand and a large, familiar object shimmered into existence. "Why bother having Hephaestus build me another Annihilator when I could just have him build me another key?"

Shayera gaped at the god before her, trying to process this new information she'd suddenly received. _Holy shit_. . .she should definitely have brought more backup. And the Green Lantern Corps too, if they could be spared. This whole Themyiscera situation was _way_ bigger than anyone could have imagined.

Surreptitiously, she reached to tuck a strand of fiery red hair behind her ear. At least that's what it looked like. In doing so, she'd also managed to hit the send button on her JL issue ear mike. While the 'record' feature was no record studio, it had definitely captured the entire conversation. Now at least her colleagues would know what had happened to her. And hopefully be able to make it in time to stop Ares.

She swung her mace up in a two handed grip. The archers that flanked Artemis tightened their bows even further, ready and eager to send a deadly barrage of arrows her way at Artemis' word.

She felt an involuntary gulp. _Shayera, you are so screwed. . ._

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**A/N**: Wow, it's been a while since I've been this site. I can't lie, all the new features and layouts take some getting used to, but I'm glad to see that some things haven't changed. The Justice League fanfics here, for instance are still amazing. I've spent the better part of a month just reading some of the really cool stories here, and that is partially what inspired me to finish this fic.

The other half of the story is that I found an old VHS tape on which I'd recorded a ton of JL episodes. And watched them all. One of, if not my favorite cartoon ever.

So, with all that, I decided to finish what I'd started back in the beginning of high school. I've always liked this particular story, though I see now more than ever that it has its faults. Still, writing these characters was a lot of fun back then, and I'm proud to report it still is. Due to the fact that yahoo locked my email account from lack of use, I never got see some of the messages and emails that readers sent in the hopes that I would continue. Though I'm sure I would have decided to keep writing a long time ago if I had.

My apologies if my writing style has significantly changed. The only things I find myself writing anymore are academic papers and article reviews, and actual scenes are a lot harder now for me to envision and then convey. Hopefully whatever changes have crept up don't detract too much from the story. One thing that hasn't gone away is my grammatical/ syntactical cluelessness. I had to sort of beta myself on this chapter, so if it shows then the fault is solely mine.

This chapter in particular? My main intent was to sort of tie together a lot of the strings I'd left dangling throughout the story (the connection between Artemis, Hades, and Ares, for instance). I'm sure the discerning reader can tell that this was by and large an informative chapter, but I did try to add other elements to make it interesting.

As for continuity, my grasp is shaky at best. Before writing this chapter I rewatched the episodes I could find that involved Tartarus/ Hades, Felix Faust, and Themyiscera. Still, I know there are places where my take on these elements conflicts with canon. I tried, lol.

If you're reading this, then thank you. Not only for making it all the way through my story thus far, but also for patiently scrolling what is by now an obnoxiously long Author's Note. As a writer, nothing means more than comments and critiques of the readers out there. And I would love to hear what you guys think.

Til next time,

-C


	11. Chapter 11

_**Bruce**_

I had expected another visit from Gordon sooner or later, but the extra baggage with him was a complete surprise to me. Agent Levin, if memory served me correctly. I'd seen him in the shadows of the Prizm fiasco and even filed away a mental note to do a little investigating of my own into the man. Understandably, after Cadmus I was all the more wary of covert government types. Especially the ones who could dispassionately murder a man, sans trial, like Levin.

"Come in," I said in my best Bruce Wayne. I was almost going on autopilot, wearing the billionaire persona like a mask while the detective underneath listened intently for whatever Gordon was about to say. Interestingly enough, he seemed to dislike the government agent as much as I did.

Levin was the first to speak. "Mr. Wayne. . ." he gave an exaggerated look around the lavish interior of the manor, perhaps confirming to himself that I was the brainless dilettante he thought I was. He certainly wasn't able to keep the dripping condescension from his voice. "We had an interesting incident this morning."

"We?" I asked pointedly.

"_We_ found your employee," Gordon cut in, clearly irritated at Levin from grouping himself with the GCPD. "He was dead. Burned to a crisp. From the inside out."

"What?" I didn't even have to feign that kind of surprise. "How…?"

"Clearly this man was much more than a mere security guard," chipped in Levin smugly. My dislike for the man was growing exponentially. "For someone to dispatch him in such a cruel manner indicates two things. One, they did not want him to reveal anything. Two, they wanted his death to send a message to someone else."

"The forensics are gonna be all kinds of hell," Gordon sighed. "The guy doesn't have a mark on him outside, except for some pretty weird skin discoloration. But he smells like a damn barbecue and when the forensic investigator took a peek, she confirmed that all his vital organs have been completely incinerated." He exhaled a deep breath, looking directly at me. "I thought I'd seen everything Bruce but I've never seen anything like this. The medical examiner will probably name his next ulcer after this guy."

"Quite a spectacle, really," remarked Levin. "And I have a hunch you might know who's behind it."

"Me?!" I said incredulously. The outrage was only partly genuine. I was already beginning to suspect the culprit but I wasn't going to say anything to an arrogant prick like Levin.

Agent Levin glared at me with his own version of the Batstare. Amateur. I let the detective take over for just a second, hardening my eyes. In less dire circumstances, the way his face went completely white would have been gratifying. As it was, I was just grateful to shut him up.

"I know we've already asked this a million times," said Gordon. "But the more that happens, the less these events look like coincidence. Your manor being attacked, missiles stolen, and now an employee dead of such bizarre causes I almost don't even want to report it. Do you have _any_ idea Bruce...?" Of course Gordon is harder to fool or quell than the buffoon next to him.

Add to the list, Diana losing her powers and getting attacked at Wayne Enterprises and it all really pointed one vile perpetrator.

"For the last time, no." The look I flashed at the two men dared them to contradict me.

"We'll be keeping an eye on you." Levin intoned, having regained his composure. He looked reluctant to leave.

"They teach all you government types to say that in Secret Agent school?" I asked, smirking. "You guys should think of a new ominous threat already, that one's been done to death."

Levin did the smart thing and ignored the jibe. "I'll leave," he said. "For now." And he did, stalking through the doorway with the purposeful stride of a professional.

Gordon arched an eyebrow at me. "I wouldn't get on his bad side Bruce," he said. "That man has security clearance levels that would make your average conspiracy nut's head explode. Someone like him, you'd need a lot more than money to stand a chance."

"Oh, I'm just messing with the guy, I have to get my kicks somehow." I shrugged with a stupid grin.

"Just please tell me you're not as full of shit on this as you seem."

"I've told you all I know," I lied. It was hard to look him directly in the eye and do so, but there were some things the GCPD was just better off not dealing with.

"Well that's all for now then," said Gordon. "Give the young lady my regards."

That one I couldn't even begin to explain away. Unconsciously I raised a hand to my mouth. "That obvious?"

His only response was a chuckle as he walked away.

**********************************

_Themyiscera_

Looking at the taut bowstrings, the deadly razor sharp arrows pointed at her, Shayera did the only thing she could.

She flew, gaining her a few precious seconds of confusion from the archers. Looking at her wings, most people tended to assume that like a bird she needed to flap a while before gaining altitude or speed. It was a misconception that might have been true in her childhood, but as the most flight-experienced Thanagarian in existence, Shayera could take off to an aerial climb in mere fractions of a second.

She reached a height of about twenty feet when the first arrows came. As expected, the barrage had failed to account for Shayera's speed and so the projectiles missed their intended target, passing harmlessly underneath.

Shayera did not waste any more time static in the air. She began flying furiously toward the trees while behind her the shouts of angry Amazons drowned out the sounds of their bows being drawn. She reached the edge of the clearing just in time to avoid the dozen arrows aimed for her heart. Desperately, she folded her wings to increase maneuverability amidst the trees and vines, clambering along the branches with her arms and legs. Here in the forest, her ability to fly was practically nil, unless she flew above the treetops. It sounded like an attractive option at first, but Shayera knew that going out in the open would only make her an easier target. Besides, jungle warfare was her specialty. And those bows and arrows wouldn't count for much in the dense undergrowth.

The first pursuing Amazons arrived in the forest panting and out of breath. They'd had to reach the forest on foot, which was no easy sprint. Still, none of the five women in the advance party were stupid. They'd put their bows away and now wielded a variety of handheld weapons, such as spears and swords.

Shayera caught the first one by surprise, pulverizing the warrior's sternum with a crushing blow from her mace. She high kicked the nearest Separatist in the face, and snapped her left wing out far enough to give another Separatist a concussive head wound. Another thing that opponents foolishly underestimated were the strength of her wings. Capable of lifting and sustaining her entire body weight in high-speed flight, they were indescribably powerful appendages. Even the wing of a goose packed enough wallop to shatter a grown man's leg. Shayera's were lethal in their own right.

One opponent nearly ended Shayera's life as the spear she'd thrown narrowly missed Shayera's ear. There was a high-pitched electronic squeal followed by a burst of static as the spear skimmed her communicator. Then pain exploded in her ear and Shayera was forced to hurl her ruined communicator away. Scowling, Shayera hefted the spear and threw it back with surprising force. Her attacker stupidly tried to bat it away, but the razor sharp spearhead went through her hand like it wasn't even there and buried itself deep in her neck. She fell to the ground dead without so much as a scream.

More Separatists were arriving by now, swords and other weapons drawn. Shayera briefly considered picking up one of the fallen Separatists' swords, but rejected the notion just as quickly. With an unfamiliar weapon and her mace limited to a singlehanded grip, she'd be an awkward and ineffective fighter. Best to stick with what she knew.

One of the Separatists, having spotted her, approached from behind the tip of a wickedly curved spear, her features cast into complete shadow by her iron helm. Shayera barely danced out of the way in time to avoid being impaled. With a harsh cry, she brought her mace around too quickly for the woman to compensate.

The Separatist tried to dodge, the blow that was meant for her head simply destroying her shoulder instead. With a cry of pain, she dropped her spear and fell back for a retreat. Shayera let her. Even if she had been the type to relish cold-blooded executions, there were still at least a dozen more Separatists around her, eager for blood. Not to mention Artemis and Ares, neither of whom she stood a chance against. For now, they'd apparently been content to let the foot soldiers hunt but who knew how long that would last.

Shayera feinted to her left, ensuring that the closest two warriors bolted out of reflex to cut her off. She reversed direction though, using her wings to instantaneously halt and then redirect her momentum. She crippled one Separatist with a mace swing to the knee and rendered a second unconscious with a compound snap kick. Luckily, they weren't all wearing helmets.

She was vaguely aware that others would have had time to come up behind her but was not yet able to turn around before a horrible pain cut across her right wing. The shock would've paralyzed most of her species, but Shayera had just enough presence of mind to file away the agony of the wound and confront her sneak attacker. The ferocious, muscular woman behind her was winding back for another swing of her heavy sword, but Shayera didn't give her opportunity to make good on it. In one fluid motion, she executed a leg sweep that threw her opponent hopelessly off balance. The warrior flailed on the way down, even dropping her sword, but all to no avail. And Shayera barely hesitated to come down on the woman's throat with a crushing knee strike, killing her instantly. It was a dirty move even by most organized martial arts standards, but Shayera was beginning to realize that she had no other option. These women were being too bold in attacking her, trying to exploit what they thought was a fear of lethal reprisal. And they would keep at it until she died. Or they did.

The next Separatist gasped at the gruesome sound of her companion's demise. She looked back up at the Thanagarian with fury in her eyes, but then the completely unexpected happened.

Shayera's only warning was a faint whistling sound. The kind given off by objects moving at high velocities through the air. Then the next thing she knew, the hilt of a sword had sprouted from the renegade Amazon's chest. The blade was buried in her heart.

"Shayera Hol of the Justice League, please fall behind our ranks for your own safety," commanded a voice from behind. Chancing a quick glance behind her, Shayera was startled to see a contingent of Hippolyta's Loyalists coming up from behind. A tall, dark-skinned woman with long black hair and golden armor was at the forefront of the new arrivals. She was the one who had thrown the sword.

Shayera didn't need to be asked twice. The possibility that Ares or Artemis would enter the fray overcame her natural desire to keep fighting. She was a warrior, but also a realist after all.

The Separatists looked confused, clearly having failed to anticipate the intervention of Loyalist Amazons. They were outnumbered, and without their leader or Ares deciding to tip the scales, the odds had just tipped against them. At any rate, Shayera was able to retreat back into­­­­ the midst of the Loyalist contingent unmolested.

"My name is Phillipus," whispered the leader to Shayera. "I am the chief general of Hippolyta's armies."

Shayera gave the woman an appreciative smile. "I think you just saved my ass."

Phillipus stared at her blankly, clearly confused by the idiom. "Yes. . .well Hippolyta feared for your safety. She sent us to surreptitiously follow you in order to ensure your safe departure. I apologize for not having arrived sooner. Tracking a winged woman on foot is a bit more difficult than I had imagined."

"What about them?" Shayera asked, gesturing toward the Separatists.

"They'll retreat," said Phillipus confidently. They failed to kill you, and as of now war is as much as declared. They will regroup and prepare for an attack on the Palace of Hera itself."

Shayera watched as the Separatist did exactly that, fading away back toward the way they'd come. "I did manage to send a message to the Justice League," she said. "But there was no time to encode a high priority alert. J'onn, the one who filters through the communications in the Watchtower might not even notice it among the thousands of messages that pass through the server. Or it might take him a week, which would still be too late. Still, you should know that it's not just Separatists you're up against. They've joined forces with Ares?"

Phillipus looked stunned. "For what possible reason?"

"As far as I can tell, he wants access to the Gates of Tartarus. He wants to free Hades."

"Still, I cannot imagine that even a traitorous dog such as Artemis would stoop so low. Surely she knows that Ares will only destroy her and all of Themyscira once he gets his way."

"Power can be very tempting," Shayera pointed out. "I'm sure he's promised to leave Themyscira unscathed when Hades is released and promised to ensure Artemis' queenship."

Phillipus seemed to mull over this for a moment. "Were it not for Ares and Hades' involvement in this foul affair, I would ask you to leave and the Justice League to refrain from intervening in Themyscira's affairs. Now, I wonder if even they will be enough," Phillipus sighed. "I am ashamed for my people that it has come to this, but what must be done must be done." She turned back to Shayera. "Come, we must hurry back to the capital palace and prepare. I have no doubt that an attack is imminent." She suddenly started, having caught sight of Shayera's wounded wing. "Can you fly?"

Shayera gingerly tested the wing, only to be paralyzed with agony for her troubles. The wound was severe, and there was no way she'd be flying anytime soon without proper medical attention.

The Amazon nodded in understanding, "Right, well let's get you back to safety and have your wing seen to by a healer."

******************************************

Back in the clearing, Ares regarded Artemis with thinly veiled irritation. "You do know your warriors are failing, right?" he asked derisively.

"I imagine that's the case, yes," she replied.

"Why did you let her go?"

Artemis looked at him coolly. "Because she isn't a threat. She can't get to the Javelin and she certainly can't fly back to the Watchtower. She can't even leave Themyscira because our archers or the storms that surround this island would kill her."

"She doesn't have to leave Themyscira to warn the League," Ares said with the voice of an impatient teacher to a small child. "They all wear communicators or have you forgotten."

"We'd have seen if she tried to use hers," Artemis said in the same cool voice.

Ares did not look convinced. "I doubt even you honestly believe that," he snapped. "And yet I find myself hoping beyond hope that sparing the Thanagarian's life was mere stupidity and not something else. I'd hate to think that you were going soft where our enemies are concerned."

"No," said Artemis, her eyes on the sky above. "Never that. . ."

**********************************************************************

_**Bruce**_

Altogether, I've spent tens of millions of dollars on exercise facilities. The one for Wayne Enterprises employees probably tops that list, but in addition the manor has a state of the art gym and swimming pool. While dating a certain Olympic champion ice skater a few years

back I even installed a full sized ice rink in the sub-level below the main gym. The pointless extravagance of it all left a bad taste in my mouth, but it was better that the media focused on ice rinks and swimming pools rather than other, more secret funding allocations.

When I returned home that evening after a particularly tedious Wayne Enterprises board meeting, I went to the Cave, the only place where I ever truly poured myself into exercises. The muscle strengthening techniques I'd learned during my travels across the world did not require expensive exercise equipment. Most did not even require weights other than one's own body mass.

In one of the smaller rooms adjacent to the monitoring center, I sat down on the rough training mat and began some of the elementary breathing techniques I knew, allowing the oxygen to flow through my body and saturate my muscles. When ready, I began some light stretches, increasing the intensity with every rep. I would never be as limber as Dick or Barbara, but the stretches felt good and I was gratified to see that I wasn't losing any flexibility.

Having done this, I launched into a handstand and began doing vertical pushups, hands flat against the ground. A few dozen of those and I went up on my fingertips for the last set, forcing the muscles in my hands to fight for stability. When I'd first started such strenuous exercises, I'd had to count off each one in my head. After years of such conditioning however that wasn't even necessary. I'd come to know the limits of my body as intimately as humanly possible.

In the center of the training mat is a cylindrical block of wood exactly six feet five inches high. Jutting out from it are pegs of various lengths and widths, all from different angles. They are meant to simulate the bones of an opponent's arms and legs in many of the various positions that one faces. I'd learned to train with such devices during a stint in Bali, and found my own combat prowess accordingly augmented.

I started with simple blocks, imagining the wooden pegs as incoming blows. I practiced forearm blocking, diversion, evasion as I weaved my own blows against the wooden block in between the tangle of pegs. Like with the stretches I increased the intensity of my blows until I was actually breaking the pegs themselves. I did an aerial cartwheel to the side and prepared to rain blows down on the dummy's undamaged face when I saw Diana standing in the entrance. I froze, awkwardly rising to my feet.

"Wow," she said, stepping fully into the room. As usual, she looked great, having changed into stylish jeans and a deep maroon blouse cut to hang daringly off one shoulder. She'd swept her hair back into a ponytail, with a few loose strands pleasantly framing her face. Beautiful

"I'm sorry… I didn't know you were there," I murmured feeling suddenly awkward.

She smiled. "I didn't mean for you to know as I was just enjoying the show." Her eyes flitted to the wooden dummy. "I've never seen you work out like that before."

"Well, staying in shape isn't easy, especially for what I do."

She laughed, but didn't say anything. She was waiting for me to ask why she was here but I already knew.

"You're here to talk about this morning," I said simply, mentally congratulating her on her timing. Here I was sweaty and tired while she could have just stepped off of a catwalk.

She leaned back against the wall nonchalantly, crossing her arms. It was a masculine gesture, but it somehow looked incredibly sexy when she did it. "This won't take long," she said. "I just need to know if I'm wasting my time."

"Wasting your time doing what?" I asked, a bit surprised by the course of the conversation.

"Being in love with you," she said evenly, her eyes locked with mine. "Look, Bruce, we've danced around this whole issue for almost as long as we've been in the League. At least that's how long I've had feelings for you. And you. . .you always throw up these bullshit excuses about why we can never be anything but friends. And that's okay! Really, I mean, I always tell myself to just forget it and move on. But then I get little hints—at least that's what I think they are— that maybe you do feel something for me. And then I just can't give up hope or move on…"

"Diana…" I started to say, but she cut me off with a finger to my lips. It was just as well, as I had no idea what I would've said after her name.

"No Bruce. Just listen for now, okay?" She took a deep breath. "I'd like to think that you feel the same way about me but I've seen you operate in your playboy persona and part of me wonders if I'm just like the other women that Bruce Wayne has charmed into loving him…if I'm going to wake up in your bed one day to find you gone with a note that says 'It was fun while it lasted'."

"I would never do that you," I protested, a bit peeved by how she was characterizing me. Our relationship had never been that shallow.

"You wouldn't? Even unintentionally?" She stepped closer, jabbing a finger into my chest. "If Commissioner Gordon hadn't come by this morning, what would have happened Bruce?"

"Dammit Diana, we both know..."

"Just answer the question," she pressed, her chin up in defiance.

"We would've had sex," I finally said, helplessly.

"Yes we would've had sex and then what?"

"What do you mean 'and then what'?"

"Would it have changed anything between us?" she pressed.

"Hopefully not," I blurted before thinking. She tried to hide the sudden hurt in her eyes, but failed. I knew immediately that that wasn't the answer she'd been looking for but I couldn't take back the words.

"That's just it Bruce," she said in a whisper. " 'Thanks, fun while it lasted but don't get any ideas…I'm not in _love_ with you…your just another woman in my life'." I realized with a start that she was mimicking me.

Gently, I raised a hand to stroke her cheek, lifting her chin back up so that her eyes would meet mine. I had no idea what to say and I was starting to feel a funny ache in my chest.

"Do you love me Bruce?" she asked me, her voice nearly breaking. I could tell this talk was taking a lot out of her emotionally. "That's all I want to know, really. Yes or no."

I wanted to be able to tell her yes. Yes I loved her. Of course I loved her, I had loved her ever since laying eyes on her.

But that was all Hollywood nonsense, as I'd had to learn the hard way. I'd loved before, or thought I had. Only to see the women in my heart lost to me through unspeakable tragedies. Andrea Beaumont, Talia Al Ghul. . .the list went on and on. I'd sworn to never allow myself the luxury of love, for it was one that I couldn't afford to even acknowledge while I wore the mantle of the Bat. I felt something for Diana, something strong and unfamiliar and frightening at the same time. Something different from the others but I wasn't willing to call it love yet. I couldn't. I just couldn't stand to lose again especially not her. I would settle for friendship because even just that with her gave me something I needed.

Her head sank against my chest. "You don't love me," she said softly. It wasn't a question.

I stroked her hair, wondering what I could say. If anything. I was sorry that I couldn't take the leap of faith needed to have more with her. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, stroking her long black hair with my thumb. The smooth silky material of her blouse felt incredible pressed against me, but for once neither one of us was in the mood. So we stood like that for several minutes, holding each other in a silent embrace that seemed too delicate to last long.

It was Diana who broke the spell, pulling back and taking my hands to place them at my sides. "Thanks for being honest Bruce," she said, her voice neutral. "It is good that I will be moving out soon. I'll see you at the gala I guess. Have fun with Hallie."

At my shocked expression she continued, "She called me to tell me a few hours ago. She's very excited, Bruce. You might want to consider her feelings as well before you start something with her you'll regret."

Diana suddenly kissed me, a quick and impulsive moment that was gone as soon as I'd registered it. Then she turned back to the door and left me alone once more in the training room.

"Diana," I whispered as she disappeared around the corner. And once again it was just as well, for there was nothing more I could say but that didn't quell that strange ache in my chest.

*******************************************************

The rest of the evening could have been indescribably awkward, were it not for the fact that Diana took off not long after our 'talk'. She'd gone to the garage, made off with a classic eighties Harley, and zoomed off into the night without so much as a word goodbye. I didn't mind though, especially since I wasn't sure I was emotionally ready to see her again either. Far from settling matters, the discussion had only gotten me more conflicted where a certain beautiful Amazon was concerned.

Later that night, while programming some new software for the Batmobile's onboard computer, I received an unexpected alert from the mainframe's automated monitoring system. I'd set the system to scan police reports and anything coming out of local media outlets that mentioned Harley Quinn , the Joker, or missile launchers. The resulting ping, upon further investigation, turned out to be an intercepted SWAT team transmission. Harley had been captured after a lengthy and prolonged battle downtown. Several policemen were hospitalized and the SWAT team sent in as backup was reporting injuries as well. The Joker himself was still at large, but the Hyperion launcher had been recovered from the scene of Harley's attempted crime.

The news report was barely finished by the time I'd suited up and prepped the Batmobile. It hadn't mentioned where Harley was being held, but I knew that the GCPD Secure Detention Facility was a safe bet.

I sped down the road toward the downtown district. With any luck, Harley could clear up a few loose ends for me.

*****************************************************************

_Themyiscera_

Shayera watched the massing Separatist army with equal parts dread and anticipation. The sun was rising against the enemies' backs, casting a long, wicked shadow, like a spear, across the desert like battlefield.

She was clad now in Amazonian armor. A bodysuit of cloth and chain mail began the ensemble, the entire back having been removed to accommodate her wings. Her arms were also bare save the fierce gauntlets that ran from her elbow to her wrist. The gauntlets were a bit large for her, but she found the wicked spikes that sprouted from the exterior much to her liking.

She wore a leather and steel battle skirt, secured tightly around her waist and adorned with pouches of supplies as well as sheaths for the handblades that the Amazons had supplied her with. Leather, steel-toed boots completed the black and gold ensemble, and Shayera briefly wished she could catch a glimpse of her reflection. She was much shorter than the average Amazon, and disliked ill-fitting attire as much as the next woman. Still, there were more important things to focus on. . .

"You should have worn the helm," said Phillipus beside her. The taller woman was clad similarly to Shayera, except with an additional breastplate and plumed helmet. The latter's T-shaped visor almost completely obscured her features in shadow. The effect was very intimidating and Shayera found herself glad that the woman was on her side.

She smiled. "Nah, I'm done with helmets. Besides, I'm too used to my peripheral vision to lose it."

"You could lose a lot more than that without proper protection," countered Phillipus. "But the choice is yours." She gestured across the hard, rocky ground of Apollo's Pass to the Separatist encampment. "There are more of them than we had suspected."

"It looks like we still outnumber them though."

"Which would bring me great comfort, were it not for that accursed Ares. He is usually loathe to engage in combat personally, but his talents for manipulation are unparalleled." She sighed. "I have a bad feeling about this battle; I would prefer to fight in more familiar territory."

"Then why aren't we?" Shayera inquired. They were indeed well outside of the capital's borders, and yet Hippolyta's forces had chosen to take their stand here on the edge of the Wastelands.

"Apollo's Pass is of great strategic significance," explained Phillipus. "First, it opens into the only accessible route to the queen's palace. Without entering this pass, the Separatists would have to spend hopeless weeks scaling the mountainous terrain that all circuitous routes entail. The savage cold alone would take its toll, and if they ever did make it past the mountains their army would arrive in such a pitiful state that even our elders and librarians could easily overcome them. No, the pass is their only choice if they wish to depose Queen Hippolyta and gain access to the Gates of Tartarus."

"So you decided to stop them here, before they could reach the capital and force you on the defensive."

"It was a decision made by the gathering of generals," corrected Phillipus. "My own view, that we would have the tactical advantage defending familiar territory, was not in line with the consensus."

Shayera nodded, her gaze traveling back to the ranks of Loyalist soldiers behind her. They seemed a bit restless, but determined. Ready to spring into action at the mere word from Phillipus. They seemed to regard Shayera with indifference, which was fine by her. She had more than earned the right to fight beside them in the eyes of Hippolyta and Phillipus, and that was all that mattered.

"Having second thoughts?" asked Phillipus. "You don't have to fight, you know. This is still our battle."

"That bitch tried to kill me," said Shayera, acid in her voice. "It's my battle too."

******************************************

_**Bruce**_

The Gotham Secure Detention Facility was not up to the standards required to hold any of the city's costumed villains, in my not so humble opinion. A design flaw—whoever built it simply hadn't counted on having to contain the breed of criminal that Gotham had become famous for having.

There was no choice though, at least not until tomorrow. GCPD simply didn't have the manpower for a proper armed transport, and trying to keep her under wraps while en route would be a lot harder than just keeping her for the time being, especially given the beginnings of a storm brewing over Gotham.

The Secure Detention Facility has three civilian entrances, all closed, and a transport bay for the paddywagons and GCPD personnel. I just came in through an old ventilation system, so that by the time Gordon and his new prisoner arrived in Interrogation I was already waiting.

"Jesus!" yelped Bullock, his hand instinctively going for his gun. I let him fumble around awkwardly with his police issue holster for a few seconds, before Gordon predictably placed a restraining hand on his arm.

The Commissioner looked directly at me. "I suppose it's too much to ask how the hell you got in here."

"It's the why that's more important," I said, my stare fixed upon Harley. Up until now she'd been as limp as a marionette, her head lolling down and two junior cops holding her up by either arm. At the sound of my voice though, her head raised. No mask, her disheveled blond hair was still in its customary ponytails. Her makeup was a mess, running all over the place. And her eyes glowed with the same insanity I'd seen in the Joker for years. She was getting worse—hell by now she probably had as much a chance at rehabilitation as the Joker himself.

"Heya Bats!" she said perkily, cocking her head at an unnatural angle. "Come to keep lil old me company? I'm flattered and everything, but. . .y'oughtta know Puddin's the only one for me."

I looked at Gordon. "I need some time alone with her."

"Out of the question."

I stared harder.

A sigh. "How long?"

"Come back in two minutes," I said.

Harley's eyes widened as her police escort slowly filed out of the room behind her. "Hey!" Panic had tinged her voice. "Don't leave me alone with Bats—he's nuttier than I am!"

Gordon was the last to leave. "Two minutes," he repeated through the door before closing it.

And just like that, we were alone. I could see Harley calculating, wondering if perhaps there was an upside to this. If she could take me and maybe scamper up through a crawlspace in the ceiling before the police came back in.

It wasn't happening. Even unrestrained, Harley was not my equal in combat. With the cuffs, it would be a joke. And if my suspicions were correct, she was double cuffed. Smart move, Gordon. She'd be pinned down the instant she managed to pick the first pair, much less the second.

Harley apparently arrived to the same conclusion that I had. "Whaddya want?" she sighed, plopping herself down on the interrogation room's only chair.

"A little information, that's all," I said.

Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

"The Hyperion launcher. Where did you get it?"

"Go to hell," she spat with an insane smirk.

I didn't even let her finish the sentence. Leaping over the table, I gave the exposed back of her chair a savage kick. Harley let out a panicked yelp as she was flung backwards, pitching over with the chair, no way to cushion her fall. She was airborne for fraction of a second, then crashed down jarringly on her shoulder.

The sudden brutality wasn't my style, but time was not my ally and I needed to impress that urgency onto Harley. I'd calculated the kick to stun and maybe even hurt a little but nothing more. Even that was pushing it. I was lucky the doors weren't already bursting open with cops.

The mad gleam in her eyes flickered, briefly replaced by something else. Fear.

"Where did you get it?"

She had curled up into a fetal position, with me looming over her like a million nightmares in one. She gulped. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," I said harshening my tone even more.

She was trying to collect herself, trying to remember what had happened, exactly. I suspected I already knew, but her confirmation was still necessary.

"There was this guy," she finally said. "Real weird, blond hair and real big, like a bodybuilder or somethin'. Me and Mr. J came back to our home sweet home one night and there he was, with the Hyperi-whatchacallit on our couch. He talked real fancy, said to consider it a um, 'gift from an anonymous benefactor' and that we should just go crazy with it. Then he disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Yeah, like 'poof' gone."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Nothin' I can think of, I swear. It was pretty weird, but who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth, right. Especially given it worked like a charm."

"I remember," I growled.

She was instantly contrite, looking back down at the ground. "Yeah…heh…Sorry about that Bats, we mighta got a little carried awa-"

By the time she'd looked up and finished her sentence, I was gone. One name on my mind.

Ares.

**_**********************************************************************_**

Dawn rose lazily over Gotham, the darkness of night giving way to early morning sunlight. Somewhere out there, Ares knew, Batman was probably finishing his last patrols. The whole Dark Knight persona probably didn't work too well in broad daylight.

Diana was out there too. Perhaps still at Wayne Manor, though if she were smart she'd have holed up in the farthest corner of the earth. And then killed herself, to save Ares the trouble.

Oh, but he couldn't kill her because of that damned Hephaestus. He'd have to let Artemis have the honor as Hephaestus never said someone _else_ couldn't kill her. Diana's screams until that final moment would have to suffice this time. Then perhaps the rest of the Justice League, provided that Hades didn't get them first. As cruel as Ares could be, Hades' penchant for sadism and brutality had had centuries to evolve. And his own grudge against the League was far overshadowed by Ares' own. Killing them first would be an act of almost limitless mercy by comparison.

He was getting ahead of himself though. Hippolyta's forces remained undefeated for the moment, and his influence over the Separatists was beginning to show signs of cracking. Using his dark magic to corrupt the minds of the Separatists, and especially Artemis, had taken years to achieve. The results had been spectacular, provoking all-out war in a society that had remained peaceful for over a thousand years. Yet Artemis' humanity was beginning to return, if her permitting the Thanagarian to live was any indicator. Ares had immediately stepped up his psychic manipulations, but he wondered if that would be enough, at this critical juncture.

At any rate, the time for games was over. He knew the assassination attempts and the stolen missile launcher were all child's play for his least favorite Gothamites, but watching them struggle had been amusing. Now, having eliminated the Wayne Enterprises employee whose likeness he'd used, there was little more to do except watch the apocalypse unfold.

Today was a big day. He watched the denizens of the city begin to go about their normal lives, opening shops and businesses and taxi doors. In other cities around the nation, around the world, inhabitants were doing the same. Completely unaware that today marked the end.

Of everything.

********************************************************************************

_A/N:_

First of all, I just want to thank my beta for this chapter, DaisyJane, for her invaluable feedback, ideas and suggestions. It is always an honor to be able to benefit from the experience and creativity of others when writing and I would be remiss for not acknowledging her collaboration and insights with this chapter. Any errors, typos, etc. are mine alone.

As for this chapter, things are really starting to wrap up. I'm thinking maybe two more, plus an epilogue and that'll be it for the Prodigal. I'm really looking forward to finishing it. As always, the comments/ suggestions/ critiques of readers are greatly appreciated and generally tend to make my day. So why not drop a review on the way out.

Til next time,

-C


	12. Chapter 12

_**The Watchtower**_

John Stewart purposefully made his way through the pockets of scurrying heroes and support personnel that cluttered the Watchtower's main deck. On the elevated dais that housed the monitor screens, he finally found J'onn. The Martian was speaking into a wireless communicator, coordinating some type of nighttime ground assault with data from the orbital station's scanners.

Seeing the Green Lantern approach, J'onn raised a restraining hand. "Arrow, thermal sensors show a cluster of hostiles, as many as a dozen, in the second room to the right of Corridor A." Lantern couldn't tell what Green Arrow's response was, but clearly J'onn was none too pleased with it. "What do you mean your GPS is broken?! Just-okay. Well, there is always that way I suppose. As long as you got the job done. Have you located Salvador? Excellent. Rendezvous with the others and I'll beam you aboard. Just make sure the prisoner is secure."

As soon as the connection was terminated, John let out a low whistle. "Looks like you've had your hands full," he remarked.

The Martian let out a very human sigh. "As you know, we've been under increased pressure to cooperate with global law enforcement. Julian Salvador has been on international most wanted lists for the better part of a decade. He operates out of Columbia, with an empire built on narcotics and firearms trafficking. More importantly, he's been linked to a number of high profile political assassinations throughout South and Central America. Interpol asked for our assistance some months ago, so I sent Green Arrow, Huntress, and Vigilante to assist an international task force in extracting Salvador." He gave a wry laugh. "I'm glad it's over now."

"Sounds pretty exciting," John said. "And you do look exhausted. I was just wondering if we'd heard anything back from Shayera."

"Nothing on the main channels," said J'onn. "I received a brief transmission from Artemis indicating that everything was going well though."

"Nothing from Shayera though?" John asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

The Manhunter turned back to the main screen. "Nothing over any official channels. Then again, Shayera never did get properly used to our new communicators. It's possible she sent a null." As he said this, his fingers flew over the keypad, accessing the log of transmissions that had passed through the Watchtower's network.

"A null? What's that?"

"An accidental transmission, with no recipient specified. They're usually garbled background sounds, or in the case of Huntress, audio signals that are probably best left between her and Question. At any rate, it does appear that Shayera sent one off yesterday." He tapped the keypad once more to bring up the audio file.

Immediately, they were greeted with a hiss of static and white noise. Frowning, Manhunter made some quick adjustments and played the file again.

This time, the message was chillingly clear.

* * *

**_Diana_**

I didn't spend the night at Wayne Manor, for obvious reasons. I'd tried to accept the fact that Bruce didn't love me with as much dignity and class as possible, but returning back to the Manor would have been like ripping the scab off an unhealed wound. No, what I really needed was a change of scenery. So I took one of his motorcycles (not that he'd miss it or anything) and checked in at the Hilton in downtown Gotham using my new credit card. The irony that it was Bruce who'd provided all these things wasn't lost on me, but at least I could put off actually having to see him.

Well, until the gala. Despite our conversation I still planned to attend it. Bruce would be there of course, but maybe I wouldn't have to see him. With Hallie. The mental image gave me an involuntary shudder as I sat down on the hotel bed, what little luggage I had resting next to me in a shoulder bag. It was certainly no mansion, but the feeling of being on my own once more was. . .refreshing. At the same time, I couldn't just waste the night staring at the ceiling or listlessly scrolling through channels. I was in downtown Gotham after all. . .

I hopped up and ran to the bathroom's full-length mirror, inspecting my wardrobe. Black, boot cut jeans and a dark brown leather blazer a sleeveless red top. It wasn't exactly party chic, but I'd dressed in worse.

It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't have to stay in tonight. I was in downtown Gotham for Hera's sake. Even looking out the hotel window, I could see the hundreds of pinpricks of lights signaling to all that the city was vibrant and alive. Below there were bars, clubs, restaurants, all buzzing with activity.

I wanted to be down there. Let loose for once, maybe even get a bit tipsy. I'd be alone, but that didn't really bother me. I was far too enamored with the idea of seeing the city for myself, on my own.

I spritzed on a light cloud of perfume, reapplied my lipstick, and grabbed my handbag, heading out the door. Ready for whatever the night could bring.

The streets of downtown Gotham were colder than they had looked from the hotel window, but I didn't mind much, mostly because of the glass of Jack Daniels I'd downed from the hotel room's minibar before heading out. It wasn't enough to get me drunk, but a pleasant buzz was definitely settling in. The city lights were almost dreamy, the sounds of an active nightlife muted, and the Midwestern wind seemed somehow distant and detached.

There weren't many people walking around alone, I noticed. Mostly couples and groups, headed to the bars for drink and a good time after a long week's work. I didn't mind my conspicuous solidarity though; just the act of going out and immersing myself in the city _on my own _was more than gratifying.

I had no destination in mind as I strode briskly down the brightly lit sidewalk. No plan, no strategy, I was just headed for the first thing that caught my eye. Or ear, as the case was. One bar, curiously inset between an apartment complex and a nightclub, stopped me in m tracks with the smooth but powerful saxophone jazz that emanated from its doors. It had the unmistakable cadence of live music and I felt myself drawn inside, where perhaps forty or so people in their twenties and thirties were engaged in some combination of dining and dancing. In the front of the hazy, dimly-lit space on a makeshift stage were three musicians. Two guys playing drums and a piano respectively, and a woman. She was Asian, thin and short with a saxophone that had to have been half her body weight. She should have looked ridiculous holding it but instead she handled the instrument like a seasoned pro. Like it wasn't even there.

Fascinated, and admittedly tipsy, I sat down at the bar and watched the trio perform a rousing, jazzy number that earned them hoots and whistles of appreciation. Myself included, I realized. Especially for the saxophonist- she was good.

The group launched then into a smooth, mellow track that calmed the patrons down a bit. I turned around in my stool with the intention of ordering a drink when something on television suddenly popped into view. It was Artemis, a picture of her taken at a recent press conference to specific. The headline underneath read: 'Where in the World is Wonder Woman?'

"You haven't heard?" the bartended suddenly asked me. I tore my gaze from the screen. "No. . .heard what?"

"The new Wonder Woman, Artemis, went AWOL. She skipped out on a U.N. conference, some peace ceremonies. . .really ticked off a lot people."

"Ah." I said. Then surprising even myself, "Screw Artemis."

The bartender's eyebrows shot up, then he burst out in uproarious laughter. "I like you," he said frankly, placing a drink in front of me. "And the guy in the corner there _really_ likes you. Gin and tonic, compliments of him."

I turned around and sure enough, there was a tall, handsome man sitting there. He was cute, with smooth dark skin and a lean muscular frame under a stylish sweater and jeans. When he noticed that I'd seen him he flashed a smile that revealed even white teeth and, of all things, dimples. I blinked- even Bruce didn't have dimples.

He gave the genial, universal beckoning gesture with his head. I arched an eyebrow, interested. _Nope_, I mouthed, beckoning him over to my seat instead. If he wanted to talk.

I could see him chuckle to himself but nonetheless, he rose from his seat and strolled over. As a concession, I took a large swig of the gin and tonic he'd sent my way. The sweet, stinging sensation took me aback- drinking had never been something in which I was well-versed, but I tried to hide my inexperience as the man came to sit down next to me.

He gestured to the drink I was just setting down. "I hope you like it. Kind of hard to tell a woman's preference from a distance but you struck me as the gin and tonic type."

I wasn't quite sure what that meant, so I merely said, "Oh, it's not bad."

"Glad you think so." He was smiling again and the dimples were back and despite myself, somewhere inside an attraction was beginning to build. Purely physical of course, but that didn't make it any less potent. "My name's Keith by the way," he said, holding out a hand.

I took it, giving a firm squeeze which I could tell surprised him. "Diana."

"Nice to meet you." His eyes wandered the room before settling back on mine (and not much lower, as was often the case with men). "Do you come to jazz clubs often?"

I laughed. "No, this is a first. I heard the music and decided to stop in."

"Ah. Not a Gotham native I take it."

"I'm afraid not."

"Well that's certainly forgivable. If you don't mind my asking though, where do you hail from?"

The question caught me off guard, but only for a moment. "Spain," I lied.

"Oh?" he gave me a sly, but skeptical smile. Then, in perfect Spanish, _"Que guapa eres, mi amiga nueva."_

I blushed. _"Muchas gracias,"_ I replied in equally perfect Spanish, purposefully tinged with a slight Catalonian accent. His own was Cuban, if I wasn't mistaken. _"He aprobado tu examen?"_

He smirked. "Yes, you have Diana. I was just about to say, how lovely your country is. I have only traveled to Spain once, but. . .it is the kind of place that one never really forgets."

I nodded in agreement, taking another sip of my drink. "Thank you for this, by the way."

"You seemed rather surprised. Are Spanish men not in the habit of buying drinks for beautiful women?" He was leaning in now, perched on the opposite barstool. Not so much invading my personal space as gliding into it. Part of me didn't mind at all- quite the opposite really. The good looks, smooth voice, and stylish clothes were a pretty devastating combination. Even the cologne was throwing me off, making me want to just close the distance between us and go for it. Most women would've by now, I thought.

"Touché," I said, suddenly feeling a bit dazed. The alcohol was to blame for some of it, but I also knew that inside, I was rebelling against what 'most women would do'. It was the feelings for Bruce, damn them. And damn him- he'd made himself clear. What else did I need to hear?

Keith would have had to be blind not to notice my inner turmoil, and I could tell from the way he unconsciously drew back that indeed he wasn't. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm fine, it's just. . ."

"Just. . ."

I sighed. "Look, Keith. . .you seem like a great guy, and I promise to you I mean that. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted. But this is just a weird time for me. I'm still trying to come to terms with. . .something."

"Ah." His hands dropped into his lap. "Well that's a disappointment."

I gave him an apologetic half-smile. "I'm sorry Keith; I just didn't want to lead you on."

"Oh, it's okay." He stuck out his hand, like he had at the beginning of our meeting. "I certainly understand," he said sincerely. "It was very nice meeting you Diana."

"You too."

He started to turn to leave, but before his back was to me he said, "You should tell the guy. . .whoever he is, to pull his head out of his ass and realize how lucky he is. Okay?"

My hand shot to my mouth, failing to stifle a laugh at the perceptive humor. "Okay."

* * *

_**Themyiscera**_

"They have no shields," declared Philippus suddenly, shocking all of the gathered senior officers. The attack, while imminent, had not come yet and so they had thought it wise to draw up contingency plans, making simple diagrams on a wide sheet of parchment. Philippus had been observing the proceedings but the fact that something was bothering her was evident.

Shayera, who was not allowed to coordinate the battle efforts but nonetheless remained close to Philippus, gave the taller woman a curious look. "Huh?"

"Observe," said Philippus, urgency in her voice. The overhead sun, it glints off their spears, their breastplates, their helmets and gauntlets. . .but they do not carry shields."

At this, some of the other Amazons turned around too, straining to see over the long distance. Shayera, whose eyesight was much better than humans', had no trouble verifying this fact. "Philippus is right," she said. "They don't have shields. I think a lot of them are dual wielding swords, or alternating swords and spears." She turned back to Philippus. "But what does that mean?

The general's mouth was set in a hard line. "It means that something is amiss. No Amazon would attend battle without a shield, it is simply unthinkable. Granted, the lack of shields allows for greater mobility and offensive capability, but its loss comes at a far greater cost. And an entire army? They've no hope of mobilizing even the most basic phalanx! Have they gone mad?"

As if in answer to her words, a blood-chilling scream emanated from across the battlefield. It literally caused Shayera's heart to skip a beat- she'd never heard anything like it. Was this their battle cry, this otherworldly wail?

"Prepare yourselves," said Philippus tersely. "Shayera, can you fly?"

"Yes, I think so." Shayera reflexively tested her injured wing, which thanks to the Amazon healers was doing much better. Overhead, birds of prey circled, dark specks against the shimmering sunlight. Like they were waiting for the carnage to ensue.

Shayera didn't see the big deal about not using shields, but Philippus looked like she would go into cardiac arrest soon. She whirled back to Shayera, as if just processing her response. "We need to scout them out somehow," she said. "They have archers and so it would be very perilous, but you are the only one here capable of flight."

"Already on it," came the Thanagarian's reply. The next second she was in the air, her wings propelling her at an absolute vertical. She went high enough so that she could count herself out of archery range, and then flew toward the opposing army. Luckily, the thermals caused by hot air rising off the baked desert ground were enough to keep her aloft with a bare minimum of flapping. Indeed, within a minute she was looking directly down at the Separatists.

Oh yes, there was something different about them. And it wasn't just the lack of spears. They stood completely still. Inhumanly still. Like statues, waiting to be animated by a life-giving god.

She flew above completely unnoticed, which was also bizarre. No one had even bothered to glance skyward. What was wrong with them? Was this part of some strategy, some new meditative technique they'd perfected? Shayera had never seen anything like it.

And then there he was. Ares. The Amazons were not small women in any sense of the word, but the god of war still dwarfed them. He stood out from the amassed army like a sore thumb. His battle armor was different, and his blond hair contrasted with the helmets that most of the Separatists wore, especially since he was in the back of the formation.

A more important difference was that he'd seen her. Eyes straining, Shayera double checked this, her vision zooming in to multiple times that of their default capacity. His cruelly handsome features were unmistakable. And indeed, he was looking right at her. He just wasn't doing anything about it, except laughing.

Then his eyes glowed, and as if on cue the entire Separatist army snapped to attention. Shayera was so startled that she dropped a few feet before remembering to flap her wings again. _Oh God. . ._

She made a beeline back for Loyalist lines, hearing the sound of marching boots below her even as she did. Ares was mind controlling them, that had to be it. He was using the Separatists like puppets, having cast aside all pretense of being a mere accomplice. That he was that powerful shocked Shayera, but then she supposed he'd had quite a while to build up his mental control.

The footfalls increased. The Separatists were running, silent except for the pounding of their feet on the rocky ground. No more battle cries, no shouts of victory or bellows of death to the enemy. The effect was downright eerie.

Shayera reached Philippus side breathless. Around her, the Loyalists had quickly settled into their defensive phalanxes. Shields linked like an impenetrable wall, while their wickedly-tipped spears rested at the junctures, ready to impale the advancing force.

"Ares is controlling them," she announced.

Alarm flashed in Philippus' eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty damn positive yeah, I saw what looked like him giving a mental command to attack. I think he intends to just overwhelm you with sheer numbers. He's probably taken away their instinct for self-preservation. Casualties are meaningless, whatever it takes break your line.

Philippus swore, some unfamiliar word which Shayera didn't need a translator to understand. "We have heard of his ability to do this," she said.

"Not on such a massive scale," interrupted one of the generals, her voice strained.

"But it still makes sense," Philippus insisted. "Look at them approaching, what other explanation can there be for such a brazen, undisciplined attack. They are not themselves. No Amazon, treacherous or not, would attack in such a manner. They must be under some other control."

"Well, I hate to interrupt, but it looks like we're about to find out in about ten seconds," interjected Shayera. "I'll do what I can from the air. Just remember that if I'm right-"

The sickening sounds of bodies slamming against metal and of spears piercing flesh and bone signaled that Shayera's estimate had been a few seconds too generous. The first wave of Separatists had arrived, crashing against shield and spear with enough force to literally shake the ground. Many had been gored on impact, the spearheads finding unprotected areas or weak spots in the armor.

Shayera had just enough time to be glad that none of the Amazons on her side had been injured when she saw the unthinkable happen. One of the Separatists, impaled on a spear, literally began walking backward, slowly tugging it out of her sternum. With a mixture of fascination and horror, she watched as the scene repeated itself up and down the ranks of the Loyalist front line.

Not a single Separatist had screamed or grimaced or made even the slightest reaction to their grievous injuries. Their eyes were completely unreadable, as if indescribable madness lurked beneath. Some fell down, due to severed spines or maimed limbs. But they did so without a sound.

"What kind of sorcery is this?" Philippus demanded to no one in particular. She was saved from answering by the next onslaught of attackers. The second ranks were climbing over their fallen comrades, trying to break the Loyalist phalanx with thrown spears or sword jabs. The force of their unyielding push was beginning to take its toll on the Loyalist front lines. One of the Loyalists, a young brown-haired warrior made the mistake of thrusting her spear too far. It pierced the right soldier of one of the attackers, but the other woman didn't seem to notice at all. She yanked the spear out of the girl's hand in one swift move, and then leapt over her shield, a handblade suddenly appearing in her grip.

The girl tried to raise her shield to defend herself, but she didn't move anywhere near fast enough. The wild-eyed Separatist was going to slice her to ribbons before she could mount an effective defense.

And then suddenly the Separatist was airborne. And in a great deal of pain. Shayera had swooped by just in time to save the young Amazon's life, grabbing her assailant by the hair and lifting her up into the sky at a dead climb.

The Separatist fought furiously, but her clawing hands could find no purchase. Still, it was eerie. She didn't make a sound.

"Y'know, you're heavy," remarked Shayera halting her ascent. They were high enough to look down on the circling birds that hungrily eyed the battlefield and the ensuing carnage.

The Separatist made no reply. Shayera was beginning to suspect that she couldn't. None of them could.

So she dropped her, letting the flailing woman plunge to her death and even take out the two additional (and unfortunate) Separatists she happened to land on. Then, shifting her mace into an attack grip, she followed suit, diving down to wreak havoc among enemy lines. Occasional arrows soared harmlessly past her, but whatever change Ares had induced seemed to have been unkind to their marksmanship.

With the combination of her mace and flight, Shayera was a devastating opponent, a veritable angel of death. She quickly learned that the only way to stop the zombie-like attackers was to deliver a killing blow every time. Anything less and they would push past the normal limits of the human body and continue to fight. With gaping chest wounds, or even pulverized internal organs.

Still, the Loyalists didn't have wings, and for them that lesson was one earned in blood. Their numerical superiority was starting to wane as the phalanx broke down and the battlefield erupted into free-for-all combat. The more seasoned veterans, like Philippus, were almost breathtakingly deadly, slicing and decapitating through hordes of attackers with a precision and grace that defied description.

Others, especially the more inexperienced warriors did not fare as well. The extensive training they'd received hadn't prepared them for an enemy who didn't feel pain and fought without any regard for self-preservation. The Separatists would literally throw themselves upon the spears of an enemy, just so they could allow their comrades to circle around and kill her.

Shayera had never seen anything like it. And even now, blood-soaked and tired from her own crucial role in the battle, she felt an immense pity for the Separatists. They had foolishly trusted Ares, and in return he had turned them into disposable marionettes who would wordlessly march to their deaths at his whim.

She felt a sudden tug on her leg, looking down to realize that one of the Separatists had literally leaped off another one's shoulders in order to get high enough to grab her. Below, her comrades were also tugging, pulling Shayera back toward the ground. Shayera knew that the instant they got her down there, she was dead.

But no matter how hard she flapped, she couldn't escape the iron grip of the crazed Separatists, nor the combined strength of her comrades on the ground. She was being slowly, inexorably dragged down toward a certain, painful death. She tried batting away the hand with her mace, but the woman was harder to contain than a snake, her wiry limbs always managing to hold their grip regardless.

Just when she thought she might succumb, a dark blur materialized beneath her and the weight was suddenly gone. Shayera looked down to see a severed hand now gripping her ankle, its former owner cradling the cleanly-sliced stump as if in disbelief.

And the dark blur of course was Philippus, who made such short work of the remaining group of Separatists that it looked like mortal injuries were appearing on them from nowhere.

Shayera flashed her a grateful smile. "That's the second time since I've been here that you've saved my life," she said.

"Perhaps you'll get to return the favor," called Philippus before plunging back into another swordfight. "Oh, and Shayera. Please do summon me if you see an exceptionally tall woman with dark hair and- oh never mind. Just kill them all!"

Shayera had to laugh at this. Philippus' enthusiasm was encouraging but still, there was no denying that this was going to be a long battle. And Ares and Artemis still had yet to overtly play their hands. . .

She thought of the League, and could only pray that they arrived in time.

* * *

**_The Watchtower_**

J'onn hadn't had many occasions to issue Omega level alerts, but this was certainly one of them. As per the League's charter, an Omega threat level was serious enough to mandate the attendance of every single active member. This one had been issued with such short notice that he wasn't surprised to see some of the Leaguers absent, but it couldn't be helped. It was too bad that some of the heavy hitters like Superman and Captain Atom were away on other League business. In a group with so many rookies, every experienced member was woth their weight in gold.

He rose into the air, hovering above the elevated platform in order to address the dozens and dozens of heroes that stood at attention on the main deck. Telepathically, the confusion and anxiety in the room was palpable. They had no idea what was going on.

Projecting his voice, he addressed the assembled Leaguers. "First of all, I would like to thank all of you for your presence here today. I know that many of those here were not scheduled for active duty, and have been abruptly whisked from the normal flow of their day-to-day lives. For that, I do apologize. However, it is my belief that the present situation warrants such disruption

"And the situation itself? As some of you may know, senior member Shayera Hol and Artemis, our new Wonder Woman have been dispatched on a mission to Themyiscera. We had received correspondence from Artemis that all was going well on this investigative foray. Given new information brought to light by Shayera, it would seem that this was categorically false. Not only has Artemis been preparing an insurrection to depose Hippolyta, but she's invoked the aid of Ares. Once the capital is taken, they plan to free Hades from the Gates of Tartarus which is a nightmare scenario in every sense of the word."

He paused to let that news soak in. "Make no mistake, Artemis is no longer to be considered an ally, but an enemy. She betrayed Shayera, and to the best of our knowledge had her murdered in cold blood. We hope that this is not the case, but the recording that Shayera managed to send off while surrounded by Artemis' soldiers presents the very strong possibility. The battle that I spoke of is most likely under way right now, which means that we have no time to waste in stopping Artemis and Hades. As it stands, the only thing standing between them and the Gates of Tartarus is Hippolyta's army. Very poor odds when facing a Wonder Woman and a literal god. Our job is to even those odds and to protect the Gates of Tartarus at all cost. The fate of the world quite literally hangs in the balance."

He came to a standing rest on the platform, grasping the railing in front of him. "Any questions?"

* * *

**_Bruce _**

Casually dining with Hallie that afternoon, I felt nauseatingly helpless. I hadn't been able to respond to J'onn's summons- it simply wasn't possible with all the media scrutiny surrounding Bruce Wayne on the day of his famous gala. But I had heard the recording, and the satisfaction from having my misgivings about Artemis vindicated was marginal at best. I had to hand it to Ares- having Hephaestus construct another key, one to replace the one that destroyed during Felix Faust's doomed attempt to free Hades, was a stroke of genius. Clearly, he'd had some sort of role in Artemis' ascendancy to the title of Wonder. Perhaps he'd convinced the gods to revoke Diana's powers in the first place. And transfer them to Artemis. I'd tried to contact Diana and tell her of the recent events, but she wasn't answering her phone. I made a mental note to check on her soon.

The light sensation of fingertips brushing my and brought me back to reality. Across the cafe's table, Hallie was peering at me in amusement. "Whoa," she said. "Lost you there for a minute."

"Oh." I flashed an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry Hallie, I guess I have a bit too much on my mind."

"It's okay," she assured me, her hand coming to rest on mine once again. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. As always, she looked great with her hair in a classy updo and designer frames that added to her sophisticated appearance. But I couldn't but notice that even these observations were. . .detached. I felt appreciation, but startlingly no attraction. And the instant that thought appeared in my head, the rest of mind rushed back to Diana.

Christ, I had it bad.

"You know that about half of the other diners here are paparazzi, right?" she said conspiratorially. "Something tells me we might be starring in newspaper stands everywhere pretty soon."

"That doesn't bother you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Nope, I'd say it's worth it. Great company is hard to find these days after all."

"I'll um, take that as a compliment."

"You should," she said sincerely. Then, with a final drink of her green tea, "I'm afraid though, that as great as your company is, I have a gala to get ready for. You know us girls, hours of makeup and hair and all that. . ." she gave a small chuckle. "Kind of takes me back to prom nights, back in my high school days."

I laughed, rising to my feet. "Well of course then. Alfred and I will be by to pick you up at. . ."

"7 should be fine."

"7 it is then." I left the bill plus a generous tip and shrugged on my overcoat. Despite myself, I couldn't help but wonder how Diana was doing. Getting ready for the gala herself no doubt. Not for the first time in the past hours, I checked my phone. No missed calls.

I schooled the disappointment from my features, offering Hallie my arm. "Shall we go then?"

* * *

_**Diana**_

I woke up the next morning with a hangover the size of Athens. It was my first such experience and the combination of headache, nausea, and dehydration was enough to elicit more than a few mumbled vows of future alcoholic abstinence.

My vision hazy, I groped around the bedside dresser for my cell phone. Even the small light it emitted was enough to send spikes of pain ricocheting through my brain. Ah, not morning then. Afternoon. I let out a groan and grudgingly sat up so I could scroll through the missed call alerts. All from Bruce.

I knew he was probably worried but hell, I'm a big girl and can certainly take care of myself. I put the phone back and gingerly made my way to the mirror to see how much work I had to do before the gala. What looked back at me was passably human at most, with hair that seemed to follow no rhyme or reason and eyes red enough to stop traffic.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

**_Themyiscera_**

John Stewart felt the familiar lurch in his stomach as the lead Javelin touched down at the capital city. Above him, a dozen other such transport crafts made landing preparations, carrying the best metahuman strike force that the League had been able to assemble on such short notice. J'onn had made the executive decision, with full support, to override existing treaties concerning men on Themysicera. Under normal circumstances, the League would have been bound to honor this requirement, but under the circumstances diplomatic concerns were secondary.

And so for the first time in millennia, scores of men stepped foot onto hallowed Themyisceran ground. John half-expected the earth to swallow him up, but allowed himself to walk across the ancient terrain with no ill effects. It was a rather beautiful day, but there was something off. . .

"They're not here," said J'onn dryly. I'm getting telepathic signatures due west, if that even applies in this place. "Very odd, we need to be careful I think."

"Can you contact Shayera?"

"Not yet, but I can sense her. She is alive."

John found he couldn't speak for a moment, so overcome was he by relief at this news. "If all the warriors are out there, they must be fighting a battle. We don't know the terrain and even with the fliers and runners here it would be poor tactics to try to join them out there. When you contact Shayera, ask if she can convince Hippolyta's army to fall back to the capital, where our reinforcements will be waiting."

"I'm close to establishing a mental rapport."

"Good." John was about to ask if he could locate the queen when the question was answered for him. "We've found Hippolyta," shouted a familiar voice. Probably Booster Gold.

John gave a sigh. An army of men had stepped foot on Themyisceran sacred ground, and the first one that Hippolyta saw was Booster? Things were going badly already. . .

"I have secured telepathic contact with Shayera," J'onn announced suddenly. "She's participating in a battle as we speak with Artemis' Separatists. Apparently, Ares has exerted some form of telepathic control over Artemis' shock troops. Shayera and the remaining Amazons loyal to Hippolyta are fighting a losing battle."

John mulled this over. "Tell Shayera to retreat," he said. "If she's admitting defeat as a possibility, then things must be really bad over there. Their best bet is to come back to the palace where our reinforcements are waiting, before their forces are wiped out completely."

The Manhunter's eyes went blank for a moment. "Shayera says she doesn't think they should cede ground, the reinforcements would be better served joining the battle where it is."

"Yeah, but the magic around here's plaing havoc with our satellites ad none of us are familiar with the lay of the land. I don't want to lead all the reinforcements on a wild goose chase around the Themyisceran plains- it could be too late by the time we even found the battle."

J'onn stared ahead. "She says you're a stubborn. . .um. . ." If it wasn't such a human gesture, John would've sworn he was clearing his throat. "At any rate, she will do what she can to initiate a full retreat back to the palace."

"Great." The Green Lantern keyed his communicator to an open channel. "What's the status on the queen?"

"Oh, she's fit to be tied," came Vigilante's umistakable twang. "Good Lord, you'd think we'd shot her horses and stole Christmas dinner! I swear womenfolk around here-"

"It's alright," John interjected. "For now, let Black Canary and Vixen, if you can find them, talk to the Queen. We knew she wouldn't be too happy about our presence here, but under the circumstances it's more than justified."

Vigilante paused for a moment. "Alrighty boss. Out."

John thumbed the open channel off. His ring was doing a good job of regulating his temperature, cooling the air within a one-inch radius around him. It was one of many new tricks he'd picked up from constant experimentation with the ring's energies, and it certainly came in handy now. The midday tropical climate was unwelcoming, to say the least.

The League, at least its early incarnation, had been here before. Yet as far as he was concerned this was still an unprecedented venture. They were fighting an entire army- thousands of warriors who were trained to kill. Granted, their weapons were far less advanced than those found in the outside world, but the Amazons had had thousands of years to hone their simpler warfare to perfections. He realized that he was looking at the very real possibility of casualties for his people. But also that the cost would be far greater if Ares had his way.

Besides, he thought, seeing Dr. Fate's distinctive profile in his peripheral vision. They had some advantages of their own.

* * *

"Never!" shouted Philippus when Shayera relayed J'onn's message, picking up a discarded sword and throwing it with Olympian might toward some faraway target. Two seconds later, there was the unmistakable sound of metal cleaving through flesh, and some twenty meters away a perfectly decapitated Separatist corpse fell.

Shayera's own comeback died on her lips for just a second. Hell, that had been impressive.

"We. Never. Retreat," Philippus went on as she and Shayera took up back to back positions. Still, the toll of the deteriorating battle could be seen on even her features. Her voice was hoarse and punctuated by deep ragged breaths. She had killed scores of Separatists, but her sisters were dying in droves as well. So far, she hadn't slipped up enough to let a serious injury through, but even the superficial nicks and scratches that had gotten past her armor were beginning to add up. The helmet was long gone, sacrificed for more freedom of movement and vision. But even that wouldn't suffice for very long.

Shayera was reminded of an old bit of Thanagarian humor from her military days. _The battle is progressing fabulously sir. Just not for us!_

Here, in the heat of battle fending off hordes of mind-controlled Separatists, she couldn't help but laugh at the rather stupid joke that her memory had conjured up. Maybe some of Philippus' battle frenzy was rubbing off on her, but she felt as if all fear and anxiety had just dissipated from her body. Twirling, almost boredly, she dispatched one of the Separatists with a blow to the sternum shattering her ribcage. With most foes, this would have been a finishing blow but these Ares-enhanced Amazons seemed to have all of their neural limits for pain and damage switched off. They would keep fighting through broken and severed limbs, extreme blood loss, impaling, and any host of battlefield injuries. So Shayera wasted no time in putting the Separatist out of commission for good with a final, pulping blow.

Unfortunately, her newfound euphoria was not a reflection of the battlefield situation. The Loyalists were fighting valiantly, but losing ground against this army of virtual zombies. Even corpses couldn't be trusted, as Philippus' forces were finding out the hard way. They'd had dozens of casualties thus far just from soldiers turning their back on dead bodies that weren't really dead. It was macabre and sickening and was playing hell with group morale.

She heard a guttural shout of pain from Philippus and turned to find a three foot long arrow sprouting from the Amazon's breastplate. It was a deadly-looking specimen, and no doubt the armor had saved Philippus' life. But it had still penetrated, as evidenced by the trickling flow of blood that began to well around the wound.

Shayera looked her dead in the eye. "We have to retreat."

Annoyance was brewing behind Philippus' implacable eyes, but she nonetheless relented. "I will order a retreat. If you can fly to our flanks and help lead them back to the city- you remember where it is I presume."

Shayera nodded.

"Yes, well at any rate there will be other generals leading as well. I will stay behind and help fend off these. . .beasts, until the survivors have had the time to make an effective withdrawal."

"Alright," clipped the Thanagarian, aware that there was no time to waste. Taking a deep breath, she set off into the sky.

* * *

_**Bruce**_

Hallie and I arrived at the Thomas Wayne Memorial Center in style, a silver VolksWagen Bugatti Veyron. The too-futuristic design was not my favorite, but at a retail price of 1.7 million dollars it was a prize that Bruce Wayne could not have passed up. 1030 horsepower didn't hurt either.

There was no red carpet, but the walk up the grand stairs that led to the buildings entrance might as well have had one. There were reporters from every major magazine, newspaper, and network, not to mention a few dozen paparazzi, their obnoxious camera flashes lighting up the evening like fireworks. Earlier I'd taken the liberty of buying Hallie and myself matching pairs of _Lorenzo_ sunglasses for just that purpose. They were the only reason we weren't blind already.

Alfred had opted out of coming, saying he would wait for Diana in case she needed a ride. It took me aback at first- Alfred was not in the habit of outright refusing me. But he'd made little secret of his disappointment in my handling of Diana. And it wasn't like I couldn't drive myself.

Walking graciously at my side, Hallie looked absolutely stunning. In the time since our afternoon meal, she'd done something with her hair that swept it up in elaborate petals and swirls behind her head, loose wisps artfully framed around her face. Her makeup was understated yet very becoming, a perfect balance. The dress she'd selected, a deep purple original _LaFemme_ creation, fit her slim form to perfection. It gathered up around her neck and then flowed down, cinching at the back of her waist and leaving the smooth, toned skin of her back bare. This was complemented by a diamond earring, necklace and bracelet combo that sparkled from the reflected lights. It was quite honestly the best I'd ever seen her look, and despite myself it was hard not to stare.

Getting past the stairs and through the front doors took almost twenty minutes thanks to the media presence and the obligatory statements about philanthropy and the proud Wayne tradition that reporters seemed to consume like candy. When we did finally make it, I wasted no time in leading the dazzled Hallie to the front of the ballroom in which the gala would be held. The opening remarks hadn't started yet, but the open bar was already in full swing, I noticed. It would certainly be an interesting night.

"My god," remarked Hallie, taking off the sunglasses and slipping them into her clutch purse, "I've never had that many pictures taken of me at one time. It's a good thing I had those sunglasses or I'd still have spots in front of my eyes."

I laughed. "Well don't say I didn't warn you."

She nodded. "Quite true. After that though, I think I could use a drink. You?"

"Mmm, not tonight."

She poked me in the ribs. "Some billionaire playboy you are. Be right back." And with a kiss on the cheek she was gone.

As luck would have it, that was exactly when the M.C. stepped up to the microphone. Lucius Fox looked surprisingly sharp, having purchased his first new suit in decades from the looks of it. His warm gaze seemed both personal and all-inclusive, washing over the entire assembly of tipsy socialites as he prepared to speak.

"I'd like to take the opportunity first of all to thank all of you for coming out the Wayne Enterprises Annual Charity gala. I know that half of you didn't know what this was, and just came when you heard the words 'open bar'," this brought a light chuckle from the audience, "but my hope is that we can still convince you to put some money toward the Thomas Wayne foundation.

"Speaking of which, can we get a hand for Bruce Wayne? CEO of Wayne Enterprises, media darling, and the man whose face can be seen gracing checkout lines of grocery stores everywhere, he is truly a remarkable individual. Now, I know that some say Bruce is just an overprivileged dilettante whose inherited wealth lets him sit in the CEO chair and play businessman, but I honestly think that's more than a bit unfair. And not just because of the promotion I'm hoping to get next week."

I gave an embarrassed wave in response to the laughter and applause.

"We'll see how that goes," Lucius joked. "But ah well, it was worth it. Now Burt Schultz, he deserves a round of applause as well ladies and gentlemen. Burt is a member of out board of directors and a personal friend of mine. He's loyal, shrewd, compassionate, and judging from that tie he's wearing a very courageous man to boot. . ."

Even I had to laugh at that one. Lucius' sense of humor didn't have a chance to come out very often, so for me it was always interesting to see him laid back and relaxed, even if it was at my expense. His monologue, ended after a respectable ten minutes or so, and then he began calling various event organizers to the stage. I reflexively tuned out, having practically memorized these speeches by heart. At times like this, I wished we could just pile the money into one big fund and begin building the new schools and neighborhood centers already. But the very-wealthy are loathe to part with their money without a lot of pomp and circumstance and self-congratulation, so here we were. I was beginning to re-consider the bar. . .

"Hallie Greene, for her exemplary performance above and beyond what we here could have expected," Lucius announced, stunning me out of my reverie. He'd gotten back on stage, and it took my mind a moment to register the fact that Hallie had been scheduled to receive an award. "Hallie, who was making waves here at Wayne Enterprises even before all of the recent chaos unfolded, was unanimously voted for the Rainmaker award." On cue, synthesized hip-hop began blasting from the speakers, with the vocalist promising to 'make it rain' over the booming bass rhythm. I shook my head in laughter. No shame, Lucius. . .

"Ohmigod," Hallie breathed, her gaze swinging to meet mine.

I tweaked her on the shoulder. "You deserve it. And that trophy cost twenty grand for some snooty Parisian sculptor to hand-design, so you'd better go claim it."

"Liar," she laughed before rushing onstage to accept her award.

I clapped for her, louder than anyone but my mind was still elsewhere. The fact that I couldn't be with the League in Themyiscera was maddening enough. But there was also Diana. I'd been unconsciously checking the doors for late arrivals ever since the event's commencement, but nothing thus far. And she hadn't returned my calls. At least not since five minutes ago. Maybe she'd-

My phone was already out before I realized how pathetic I was being. And as I'd expected: no calls.

* * *

**Diana**

When Alfred opened the door, his first words were, "Don't you have a gala to attend?"

My eloquent response: "Umm. . ."

"Of course you do." He ushered me in and close the door in one smooth motion, helping me shrug off my jacket. "You're going to be late, though there's no helping that I suppose."

"Maybe I should just. . .not go."

"Oh bollocks, of course you'll go. It's your company too after all. And I even took the liberty of finding you a dress for the occasion."

"But Bruce-"

"Will feel like a complete fool when he sees you," clipped Alfred, rummaging through the coat closet. "If he doesn't already."

I snorted. "No, Alfred, I think I'm the only one feeling foolish here."

"Well you shouldn't. Bruce can be a bit clueless about himself sometimes. Oh, to be sure he makes up for it by being a downright genius where everyone else is concerned. But I think sometimes, his own feelings scare him worse than a million Jokers ever could."

I managed a smile, for Alfred's sake. His take on things wasn't really helping much, but the fact that he was trying to cheer me up did count for something. "Fine, I'll go."

"Excellent."

"But no promises about staying."

"Wearing this," he pronounced, finally pulling out a stunning red evening dress, "It'd be a bloody shame if you didn't."

* * *

Two hours later, I was being chauffeured to the gala in one of Bruce's private limousines. I was sheathed in one of the most luxurious (and expensive) dresses I'd ever worn. I was wearing light makeup and my hair had been the beneficiary of nothing less than a miracle, complements of Alfred. In the unlikely event that Bruce ever let him go, he'd easily find a job at any New York City salon.

Still, I felt nervous. I had no date (even Alfred was meeting his girlfriend Leslie there) and the one man I was interested in was attending with another woman. Who happened to be my boss.

"You look splendid," Alfred said over his shoulder.

I snapped my handheld mirror shut, blushing. "Hey, stop looking back here in the rearview mirror."

"Stop examining yourself in that compact one," he replied smoothly. "Just forget about all those nagging doubts and promise yourself that no matter what, you'll go in here and have a good time. Bruce or no Bruce."

I sighed and let out the breath I'd been unconsciously holding. He was right, and I was way too tense. _Just go in there, Diana. Go in there and have a good time._

* * *

**Bruce**

The first few songs they played after the awards presentations were pop hits that were a generation too recent for most of those attending. I recognized a few from the times I'd let Tim control the radio while driving, but most of it was just noise to me.

Then came the good stuff. Soul, some Latin jazz ballads and even a few classic rock hits. I'd been searching for Lucius, and when I finally saw him at the DJ booth I gave him a thumbs up. He responded by motioning for me to turn around.

Where I found Hallie, looking up at me with a mischievous grin on her face.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself, tall dark and handsome. I thought I'd lost you there for a second."

I took a second, closer look at her. The wide smile, the overly-flirtatious expression. . .Could she be-

"I know what you're thinking Bruce," she said, stepping closer, "and the answer is I'm not drunk. Just a little bit tipsy." She held up a half-downed glass of some dark liquor. "Try some."

With a sigh, I finished off the drink, which was vodka and a mixer that was present in such small amounts it wasn't even worth identifying.

"Very nice," she said appreciatively. "Do you know what song this is?"

I listened carefully. It was a little after my time, but the seductive, bass-heavy rhythm was certainly appealing. Especially now with the lights dimmed and a beautiful woman standing in front of me. The sultry female vocals over the beat only added to the mood.

Hallie didn't wait for me to answer. She stepped closer. Gently slid both hands up my arms. "It's called effervescent love," she murmured . "By Milan. It's one of my favorites."

"It is very nice," I agreed as a pleasant buzz began to settle in.

"Let's dance."

I nodded, but as her arms encircled me and mine her, mental images of the kiss between Diana and I leapt to mind unbidden. The circumstances, and the woman, were completely different of course. But then why did I feel guilty. Why was it so hard to enjoy the company of a vivacious, beautiful woman simply because she wasn't Diana?

Oblivious to the direction my thoughts had taken, Hallie merely held me tighter, pressing herself against me in some admittedly interesting ways. It was a side to her I'd never seen of nice, quiet Hallie before. And while my mind wasn't quite there, my body was.

The song finally ended, to her disappointment and even mine. It had been a nice song after all.

"C'mon," whispered Hallie. "Let's go." She grabbed my hand and tugged me after her, my pathetic 'go where?' lost to oblivion.

We weaved in and out between the clustered attendees, many of whom were dancing by now. I didn't even want to contemplate how many extramarital affairs were in the process of beginning. . .I'd learned the hard way previous years that for some, attendance at one of these events was more about finding beautiful young diversions than true philanthropic spirit. It was a wonder their wives (and husbands) kept letting them attend year after year.

We darted into one of the auxiliary conference rooms, where it was noticeably cooler and less congested. As Hallie swung the door shut behind us, not even bothering to lock it in place, some innocent part of me wondered what this was all about.

Hallie looked at me, like she was trying to look_ through_ me. Her eyes were searching for something, though I couldn't fathom what. She slowly closed the distance between us, which felt a lot more intimate with the music from outside being muffled. "Sorry for the theatrics," she began suddenly. "I just wanted to get out of the ballroom. It's so hot in there."

I nodded.

"And you know," she was saying, nervously, "I wanted to get you alone, Bruce."

"Why?" I asked, though the answer was pretty obvious.

Or not. Because instead of saying anything she quickly leaned in and kissed me, her hands still at her sides. It was soft and gentle, just a light brush of lips but the feeling and the smell of her perfume, of her proximity overwhelmed me for just a moment. And I allowed myself to kiss her back.

Then she withdrew, breathing heavily. And from her expression, I could tell that whatever she'd been hoping to find in that kiss had been absent. For my own part, I'd been swept away in the same heady rush that any man gets when kissing a beautiful woman. But that was as far as it went. I'd strongly suspected as much for some time, but the kiss was proof.

Disappointment was written all over her face, but she schooled it with a joke. "Wow, I think that was the um. . . friendliest kiss I've ever gotten." She bit her lower lip. "Hey, it was worth a try though. I guess I had hoped, you know, that maybe you felt about me like I feel about you. And you're so hard to read Bruce, I've been agonizing over it for so long, without saying anything." She shrugged. "Guess I have my answer now though."

"Listen Hallie, I think you're a wonderful-" I stopped mid-awkward sentence when I noticed that her eyes had focused on something else. Something behind me.

I turned. The door which she'd neglected to close was wide open. And in the doorway stood a tall, raven-haired woman whom it took me a few seconds to even recognize.

Diana.

* * *

**_Themyiscera_**

This was the stage, in Ares' experience, where things always went wrong.

Oh, to be sure the overall plan was progressing nicely. His 'enhanced' Separatist warriors had routed the Loyalist Amazons into retreat. Back to the palace and his ultimate goal. More importantly, he still had the key. The Gates of Tartarus were almost within his grasp.

But the arrival of the Justice League was most unfortunate. The winged woman had been troublesome enough, and the prospect of having to fight through dozens more like her was enough to give him migraines. It meant that he would have to get personally involved, which was simply no fun. Ah well, sacrifices had to be made.

Then there was Artemis to consider. She'd apparently taken off without telling him. With her help, the recent battle would have gone much more smoothly. As it was, he hadn't even had the chance to see her in action. And she wasn't answering her communicator, which meant she was in Man's World. He frowned. Artemis' obsession with Diana mirrored his own, but _he_ knew how to prioritize. For all the care he'd taken over the years in slowly manipulating her mind, he'd apparently neglected that particular faculty. And now more likely than not his prize warrior was zooming across the Atlantic to kill Diana, leaving her army to fend for itself. . .

And of course Dr. Fate, he was the-

"Sir!" came a voice from behind him. Ares turned to see Mera, one of the few Amazons who could look him directly in the eye. That and her ruthless nature was one of the reasons that he had selected her to be one of his Reapers.

"Mera. How are you adjusting to the changes?" he asked smoothly.

The woman before him had undergone quite a few changes, no doubt about that. While he'd made most of the Separatists his unwilling puppets, a select few he had chosen to imbue with even greater power. And they'd eagerly accepted. The chaos energy was literally burning Mera up from the inside- when it exhausted it would begin to consume her flesh and organs for fuel. A heavy price to pay, but the tradeoff was rather spectacular. The Reapers' strength and speed were leaps and bounds beyond their former primes. Like their fellow Separatists, they felt no pain, but their tactical abilities remained in place. Their outer layers of skin were hardened, like armor, and their eyes glowed red from the raw energy boiling within. Energy that they could even emanate at will.

Mera smiled wickedly. "I cannot wait," she said, "to eviscerate that swine Philippus. Alive." Behind her, the eleven other Reapers laughed darkly.

"Excellent. Now go forth, lead this army against the wretched queen and the foreign sorcerers she has brought to Themyiscera! Kill them all."

* * *

_**A/N**_: *Whew*, that was a tough chapter. Not only because of school and midterms and whatnot, but also the constant switching of POV's and locales. I think this might be the longest chapter I've hammered out too, which is deceptive because it's a pretty tight period of time covered. For whatever reason though, I'm just relieved to be finally through with the thing. And to be so close to the end. One or two more chapters should do it I think.

Having finished this right before 'final exam drive', i didn't have time to send it off to my beta. I did cut through what errors I saw, but It'd be incredibly naive to assume I caught everything, so my apologies in advance for grammatical/contextual/factual oopsies.

Lastly, some of you may be thinking 'boy do they drink a lot!'. And I can assure you it's not by design. Wonder Woman going out on the town was just a fun idea that popped in my head after a weekend trip to downtown Chicago where some friends and I had a similar outing to a few clubs. Highly recommended, btw. Plus Diana having a hangover is just plain funny.

Hope you enjoy. Review or not, I'll finish the damn thing anyway. But just so you know, feedback always makes my day.

-C


	13. Chapter 13

_**Diana**_

Seeing Bruce and Hallie together, kissing, was. . . indescribably surreal. My mind at first rejected it outright. Of course they weren't. . .they couldn't be. . .

They were. _Dammit._ That was when the shock started to set in. Numbness. They separated, Bruce, facing away from me. But Hallie would see me any second now. It was everything I could do not to bolt, before Bruce turned around. I didn't think I could handle meeting his eyes right now, or talking to him. Or anyone else for that matter.

But he did turn. And when he saw me he had the decency to look contrite. Not that it in any way, shape or form changed my rising ire. I did stay though, wishing to hell that I hadn't let Alfred talk me into coming and dressing up. I was wearing _stilettos_ for Hera's sake.

"Um," started Bruce. I eyed him coolly waiting for him to continue.

"You came," said Hallie, covering for him. "We didn't know if you were. . .you know, going to come."

"Yep. Well um, just passing through really," I said. "Congratulations on the award, Hallie."

"Thank you."

I turned to leave, and Bruce called out "Wait!". But I kept walking. Out the door that I regretted having ever walked into in the first place. Surprisingly, I thought, there were no tears. Even the shock. . .it was short-lived. Like reality stepping in and reminding me that yes, of course, billionaire playboys will be billionaire playboys. Reminding me that it's my own stupid fault it feels like there's a hole in my chest. That that's what I get, letting my feelings come into play.

I tapped Alfred on the shoulder when I reached him and Leslie. Glancing behind at the same time I noticed that Bruce had stopped following me. There were instantly equal parts relief and disappointment warring for control in my mind, but before I had the slightest chance of deciphering those feelings-

"Diana," Leslie said softly. Her kindly features were etched with concern- no wonder, the way I'd come barging through.

Alfred had turned around too, doing an admirable job of concealing the slight irritation from his features. "What's-"

I cut both of them short with an upraised hand. "I'm- I'm sorry for interrupting. I just wanted to tell you that I think I'm going to call it a night."

Alfred's eyes narrowed, his gaze traveling back to the doorway, where Bruce stood motionless. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'bloody idiot', then straightened up to face me. "Would you like me to have a word with him?"

"No," I said emphatically. "Please. Don't. I just need to get away, okay. You don't even have to drive me I can just. . .stay outside til whenever. Really."

Something mutual and unspoken passed between Alfred and Leslie when they heard this. She nodded, slightly, and he stepped back, some decision having been made in the blink of an eye. "No, that's nonsense Diana I'll drive you. Anywhere you want to go."

* * *

**Bruce**

"You love her," Hallie remarked, coming to join me in the doorway. She said it in the matter-of-fact way that people talked about sports statistics or the weather.

I glanced at her, but her eyes were fixed straight ahead.

"You like me, but you love her," she repeated, as if more for her sake than mine.

"Yes," I said. Interesting, the words weren't as hard to say as I'd thought they'd be.

I could sense Hallie turning toward me in my peripheral vision. "So why didn't you follow her?"

I was watching the same thing as her. The woman I loved, walking away from me like I was the bubonic plague. And I couldn't answer her question for the life of me.

* * *

**Diana **

"I want to apologize," Alfred began once we pulled out of the parking lot.

"For what?" I asked, confused.

"I shouldn't have made you come tonight, if you didn't want to," he replied. "It's just that sometimes. . .I have this meddler's urge, if you will. To fix things, or at least set them on the right course."

"You mean like me and Bruce?"

"'Bruce and I'," he corrected out of habit. "And yes, that's exactly what I mean. I care very deeply for the both of you, but that doesn't give me the right-"

"Oh, is quiet Alfred," I said, smiling despite myself. "Of course it does. And for the record, you didn't make me come along, that was my own decision. And I don't really regret it."

"Oh?" He paused to check something on the dashboard's sensors, then apparently deciding it was nothing important turned back to me. "I don't suppose you want to tell me what it was you saw. . ."

"He and Hallie were kissing."

"Oh. My word. . ."

"Pretty much." I shrugged. "It's kind of useless to wish that I hadn't seen it though. It still would have happened, regardless. And who knows, maybe I needed that to help me move on."

Alfred looked none-too-pleased with this idea, but he chose to change the subject rather than comment on it further. "What about, your plans for Gotham City?"

"If that's your way of asking whether I still plan to continue with this masked vigilante business, then the answer is yes. I might not be able to be with Bruce, but I can still work with him."

"Yes, of- what in the world?"

I turned to him sharply at the alarm in his voice. "Everything alright?"

"Well I'm not sure, to be honest. He pointed to the dashboard, which contained a screen that I now recognized to be a radar monitor. "This vehicle is equipped with a number of special modifications, one of which is satellite positioning. Right now, there is a satellite tracking the movement of ourselves as well as other objects moving within a one-mile radius. The onboard software allows for certain calculations that-"

"You're losing me," I said, somewhat impatiently.

"Right. Well long story short, there's a very high probability that someone is following us."

"You mean Bruce?" I asked, a small part of me hopeful that it was.

"No, no. . .something airborne. Here, I'm going to see if the external cameras can track it, whatever it is. It's flying at extremely high speeds and has been closing in on us for the past few minutes."

I peered out of the window, instinctively trying to catch a glimpse of whatever the hell he was talking about. All I saw was night sky. "Alfred, that doesn't make any sense. Maybe there's a glitch in the software."

Alfred had pressed something that made yet another screen appear, his fingers brushing against the surface and inputting commands. With his other hand, he turned off of the main road and to a smaller one, speeding up as he did so. "The software was designed by Bruce himself," he informed me without looking up. So while a glitch is certainly possible, I wouldn't bet on it." Two more keystrokes and suddenly a bright orange and yellow outline had filled the screen. It was. . .human shaped.

"Thermal imaging," I realized aloud.

"Precisely. Someone's following us. A meta, by the looks of it."

"Well that's not good. Even most of the League doesn't know about my identity. Or Bruce's for that matter. You should try to hail them on an open frequency. If it is a Leaguer they'll pick-"

Suddenly the back of the car just lifted up, sending Alfred and I crashing forward. My heart had stopped for that terrifying second, and before I could even get my bearings the roof over the passenger section of the limousine buckled under some enormous impact, one that I felt rattle through my teeth.

"Bloody hell!" Alfred swore. He tried to floor the pedal but then the superpowered attacker upped the ante even further. With the horrible shriek of rent metal the limo's roof was torn from the main body. Sparks flew everywhere, singeing my cheek as I turned to look at whoever was tearing the limo apart. The rain from outside poured in, drenching Alfred and I even as he struggled to keep the vehicle on the road. Still, I would have recognized the face that appeared through the roof's gaping hole anywhere.

_Artemis._

* * *

**Bruce**

"Maybe we should both call it a night," Hallie suggested. I was inclined to agree with her, as neither of us were in particularly high spirits. I for one certainly didn't feel like dancing or drinking or plastering a feigned smile on my face awhile I watched Gotham's privileged do the same.

I jammed my hands in my pockets. "You're right. Want me to take you home?"

She nodded. "I think that would be a good idea."

We entered the Veyron and pulled off into the night without a word, each of us lost in our own thoughts. One minute of awkward silence though and I was reaching for the radio.

"Don't," said Hallie.

I looked at her quizzically.

She sighed. "Look, Bruce, whatever feelings I might have developed, I think at the end of the day that we're still good friends, right? This situation, it's awkward and believe me I haven't been that embarrassed since high school. But we're friends. We don't have to pretend the other person isn't there, or that tonight changed our fundamental relationship."

I chanced another look at her as we changed directions, heading toward her house. "You're right," I said sincerely. "And I do still consider you one of my closest friends, don't think for a moment that that's changed."

Hallie nodded. "And I think I can live with that. But listen, Bruce. . .there's something you should know."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I-"

"Master Bruce! Master Bruce we have a situation," came Alfred's voice out of the dashboard comm. It wasn't panicked, but he was shouting. Some awful, shrieking noise in the background was nearly drowning him out.

"Alfred," I barked. "What's going on?"

"I haven't the slightest clue. All I know is Artemis somehow found this vehicle and is proceeding to do everything in her power to kill Diana and myself!" More shrieking. A squeal of tires followed by what sounded like an aluminum can being crushed, times a million.

"What? Alfred are you serious?!"

I got nothing. The communication system must have been wrecked.

My dilemma was not insignificant. I had a pretty good idea of where Alfred and Diana were, and I even had the Batsuit with me in the Veyron. But how could I even help them? When she was still Wonder Woman, Diana had juggled cars with ease. Someone with her powers versus myself, Alfred, and a de-powered Diana wasn't a matchup I was eager to have.

And then there was Hallie. What was I to do with her? Bringing her in would just put another innocent civilian at risk, not to mention blow my secret identity wide open. And time was against me too. The limo had some great defensive measures installed, but nothing that would hold off Artemis for long. And whatever she wanted couldn't be good for Diana or Alfred's health.

"Go," said Hallie softly, interrupting my frantic calculations.

"What?"

She sighed. "They need your help. Clearly. So go help them. I mean, if you want I can be subtle about it. Boy, wouldn't it be great if 'Batman' was able to get over there and help?'. She turned to me. "I can do that if you want, but we _are_ adults here."

I stared at her, utterly dumbfounded. "How long-"

"I've known for over a year now. And I found out because I have halfway decent observational skills and _notice_ when our best R&D projects miraculously turn up in Batman's arsenal. And no, I haven't told a soul. Any more questions?"

I shook my head, mutely.

"Great well then get your ass over there. You can drop me off right here at the gas station, I'll be fine. I can call a cab."

There were a million things I could have said. Hallie had just reinvented herself twice in the span of a few hours. In love with me and knowing my secret the whole time? Apparently she'd known me a lot more than I'd known her.

I pulled up at the gas station. "You're sure you'll be okay."

She nodded, straining with the effort to keep her umbrella in place. "Go!"

I didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

**Diana**

Artemis was saying something, but I couldn't hear her over the howl of wind, rain, and squealing tires. Her features were twisted into a mask of rage and loathing. And triumph. She was Wonder Woman, after all.

While I sat there in a stunned stupor, Alfred actually devised a plan. First, he abruptly quit gunning the engine. All the car's horsepower had been fighting Artemis' pull, and now that it wasn't anymore. . .it was like a tug of war when one side just drops the rope. Artemis and the limo went flying back the rear bumper making a loud, crunching sound as it impacted with her at full force.

"I do love the laws of physics," Alfred said to himself while I tried to recover from whiplash. "Diana, do you think you can take the wheel for a moment?" Even as he said this he gunned the accelerator, leaving Artemis behind. In my prime I'd have shrugged off a full collision with anything smaller than a tank. But Artemis wasn't used to the powers, the near-invulnerability. She was still dazed, kneeling on the rain-slicked road behind us.

We sped off, Alfred's foot firmly on the gas. He was only half-driving though, with his free hand he was fiddling around with a compartment in the ceiling. He couldn't see the incredulous look I was giving him. "You want me to what?"

"Take the wheel, just enough to keep us from skidding off-road. I'm going to try something," he said briskly. The compartment, meanwhile, finally came loose, dropping a monstrosity of a weapon between Alfred and the side door. I hesitantly unbuckled my seatbelt, grasping the steering wheel as Alfred somehow hoisted the. . ._thing_ out of the window. It was huge, calling it a gun was the understatement of the century. Its housing had taken up a lateral section of the limo's roof at least six feet long. The barrel looked like you could fit a pool cue in it, with a big, boxy magazine case leading to an ammunition chain. Bullets. Red-tipped and bottlenecked, at least four inches in length.

"Impressive, no?" said Alfred as he struggled to fit the thing out of the driver's side window. He'd unbuckled too, and had nimbly scrambled so that his torso and head were sticking out of the car. "Handheld derivative of the M2 Browning Machine Gun. Much lighter, but it still uses the .50 BMG cartridges. Real piece of work, though I must say I never thought I'd actually have to _use_ it."

I scooted over so that I was straddled between the driver's seat and the passenger seat. The thermal display was once more showing Artemis, airborne and no doubt pissed. The proximity readings were shrinking faster than the eye could follow, and it was a safe bet that she could fly faster than we could drive.

I yanked the steering wheel to the right, just barely in time to keep us from careening off the overpass we'd come onto. Alfred swore again, but nonetheless kept trying to get them massive gun lined up right. "One of Bruce's modifications?" I asked, barely even able to hear my own voice.

"No," he called back. I heard an ominous clicking sound. "Master Bruce despises firearms. This is one of mine." Then he pulled the trigger and the background noise was instantly drowned out by what sounded like the end of the world.

* * *

Artemis swore as she stood back up, furious that she'd let Diana and the butler pull that trick with the limo. The impact would have crushed a normal human, and she'd come out with nothing but bruised ribs. Still, it hurt like few things had ever since she'd become Wonder Woman, and for that they would both pay.

She took to the skies, pushing her flight for all it was worth. They'd had maybe a minute to put distance between them while Artemis recovered. It hadn't been nearly enough. She would close that gap in ten, and then kill them both. Even now, she could make out the outline of the car. Most of the roof ripped clean off. A preview, she thought, for what she going to do to them.

There was something. . .odd though. The butler was leaning out of the window, a tube in his hands. No, a _gun_. A _huge_ gun. He was pointing it at her.

Artemis laughed, swooping in lower. He had to be joking. She was met with a hailstorm of bullets, the first three of which she deflected with ease.

It was the following dozens that got through, more than she'd expected. And they _hurt_. The rounds were the size of cigars, tipped with some sort of incendiary propellant for added damage. She was trying to block all of them but her inexperience with the bracelets was costing her dearly.

WHAM. One of the rounds slammed into her cheek, spinning her around with its tremendous force. She dropped like a rock, only just barely landing on her feet. That one had done some damage. All that kinetic energy let loose on her jaw. It felt like at least a few teeth were loose. She felt another one impact high on her sternum, almost knocking her off balance. The slug hadn't quite broken skin, but it had hit hard enough to remain on her chest, flattened into a pancake of titanium-jacketed copper. And it was soon joined by dozens of additional rounds peppering her body and armor, exploding on contact.

Then, mercifully, there was silence. The bullets stopped. The car sped off in the distance, lost to her sight. She gingerly rose to her feet, still feeling a little bit shaky. Wincing, she plucked out the five or so slugs that had hit hard enough to mold into her skin. A painful annoyance, but nothing more. And it didn't really matter how fast Diana ran. She knew where the pretender was going. And she had all the time in the world.

* * *

**Bruce**

"Alfred, come in. Alfred!"

"All in one piece, Master Bruce."

"Was that sound what I think it was?"

"Ah, yes, my little addition to the limo. And you said it would never come in handy."

I had, indeed, argued against him putting that thing in the limousine. Not just a gun. . .the mother of all guns. It had been designed to bring down helicopters and Humvees. Absolutely lethal, it simply didn't have any purpose other than to kill with extreme prejudice.

Still, Alfred had been a fan of it. From back in his SAS days with British special forces. And he'd been right. "I owe you one then," I radioed back. "How's Diana?"

"Rather shaken up. She's very confused, understandably."

"Right. And Artemis?"

"I emptied nearly five hundred rounds into that woman. It didn't put her down for good, but I think it's safe to say she'll stay back and lick her wounds for the moment."

I nodded. "Rendezvous at the manor. Artemis no doubt knows where that is too, but it's still the safest place for Diana right now. Put the grounds on a high security alert, key all sensors for Artemis. We won't have time to make many preparations but I'd much rather have this fight on home turf."

"Understood," he replied. "Alfred out."

* * *

**Themyiscera.**

John Stewart thought he was imagining things when he first saw it. After all, there were plenty of winged creatures in the sky. But this one looked different. Too big, too human-shaped.

A pair of green binoculars appeared in front of his eyes, confirming what he'd been hoping for. There was Shayera, clad in Amazonian garb and looking like she'd just survived a war. Which she kind of had.

On the horizon, the Loyalist troops were just beginning to come into view. They ran at a steady pace, despite the exhaustion evident on their faces. Few were unscathed, and some were missing arms or bore grievous external injuries. At least they'd been able to make the retreat, he thought.

Around him, the mood seemed to shift as the other assembled heroes took notice of the new arrivals. Green Arrow began rechecking the calibrations on his bow, while Vigilante seemed to be inspecting his twin energy pistols. It was going to be an odd meeting, that was for sure. Who knew how the Amazons would react to all the men on their island, even knowing they had come to help them.

Shayera fluttered down next to John, so lightly that he almost didn't notice her arrival. His first impulse, which he ignored, was to pull her into a hug. Instead, he simply said, "good to have you back."

"Tell me about it," Shayera muttered. "It's been some trip."

"I feel a bit guilty," he admitted. "I volunteered you to go with Artemis."

"And I appreciated the vote of confidence," Shayera told him. "Still do."

It was the kind of mutual silence that he might have called a 'moment', had J'onn not approached just then. All business, the Martian wanted a thorough debriefing and of course, input for a defensive plan. Easier said than done, especially given what they were fighting here. A confrontation with Ares himself was unthinkable, and yet that's what it would almost certainly boil down to.

John provided suggestions where he could, and was even surprised to find some of the Amazon generals willing to chip in. Clearly, the prospect of superpowered backup far outweighed any reservations about men on the island. They'd never fought a battle like the one that had just occurred, and needed all the help they could get.

So a temporary HQ of sorts was assembled. They moved from the front lines, back to the buildings that lined the outskirts of the city's urban district. The stillness was palpable. Every noncombatant had been evacuated and moved to the far edge of the city, leaving empty houses, theaters, and shops in their wake.

So while the last remnants of the retreating force joined the main force, John, Shayera, J'onn, Philippus, and the other Amazonian generals found a deserted library from which to coordinate their efforts. It was an antiquated, yet solid structure, lit by the sunlight which carefully placed mirrors and prisms above helped to diffuse around the room.

"The bottom line," J'onn was saying, "is Ares. The foot soldiers we can handle, but we have no clear idea on what to expect from a god. How powerful is he, exactly?"

"He commands an entire army of mindless slaves through the sole power of his will," Philippus said impatiently. "And he has clearly managed to circumvent the other gods. A balance has been broken, perhaps irrevocably. He has the power to reshape this world."

John and Shayera exchanged a glance. John finally spoke. "We may be able to undercut his power somewhat."

"How, exactly?" asked a small, lithe, brown-haired woman. Instead of armor she wore dark leggings and a loose-fitting tunic, perhaps for economy of movement. . She had a battle axe almost as large as she was strapped to her back.

John gestured toward the door. "I've brought a powerful ally along. A sorcerer, known as Dr. Fate. Even as we speak, he is working to counteract the psychic hold that Ares has over the Separatists."

"What does it matter?" another general wondered. "They are still traitors, and I hardly think they will simply drop their arms and beg forgiveness even if this sorcerer of yours can do what you claim."

"Oh but they will." This time it was Shayera speaking. "Don't you see, Ares has been in this from the very beginning. It was he who placed Artemis in a position to lead a coup. He manufactured this entire civil war. He's a puppet master, and once Fate cuts the strings, there's no way the Separatists will keep fighting."

"You couldn't possibly be saying that they are blameless for their actions-"

"No," said Shayera firmly. "Not all of them, certainly not Artemis. But without Ares this coup would not have happened and they would not be fighting right now. Look at what Ares has done to them, it's horrifying!" She surveyed the room. "Now is not the time to give up hope. We have Dr. Fate, and once we cut off Ares control, it's just us and him."

John nodded. The generals' faces were difficult to read, but he sensed that they were beginning to see the entire conflict in a completely different light.

He just prayed that it wasn't too late.

* * *

**Bruce**

"Bruce, what the hell is going on?" Diana demanded as soon as I entered the Cave. She and Alfred were already there, waiting for me. Somehow, I'd hoped for a warmer greeting though clearly I wouldn't be getting it. Diana's eyes seemed to bore right through me. "Why is Artemis trying to kill me?"

I dismissed the temptation to gawk. In her evening dress, hair rain-soaked and unkempt, she was breathtakingly beautiful. I looked up at a random computer monitor. "Because she's gone rogue. She's in league with Ares, he was the one who started the civil war on Themyiscera in the first place.

"What?! Diana's face portrayed pure shock. "That makes _no_ sense, even Artemis wouldn't-"

"Well she did," I cut her off. "She gets to rule Themyiscera and Ares gets to unleash Hades on the rest of the world. He's got a new key, compliments of Hephaestus, and he's using Artemis to get to the Gates of Tartarus. Every available member is on Themyiscera right now, attempting to avert this. And you would _know_ that if you'd picked up your phone once today or at least bothered to call me back.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Oh? That's why you kept calling? Because you wanted to _warn_ me?"

"Yes. No! I mean, I didn't know Artemis would come after you, but-" I switched tracks, suddenly curious. "What were you doing last night anyway?"

"That is absolutely none of your concern," Diana said. "_You_ were the one who made that perfectly clear."

"Is that what this is about-"

"Enough!" Alfred snapped. He stepped forward, his eyes switching between me and Diana. "Your lovers spat _categorically_ pales in comparison to the very real threat we have right now. Artemis is on her way here, and the mansion's defenses won't keep her out for very long. Now you two had damn well better stop sniping at each other and figure out how we're going to deal with this."

I nodded, acutely embarrassed at the blunt assessment.

"He's right," we both said at the same time. I strode over to the main monitor screen, pulling up all the surveillance footage I could (a considerable amount). It didn't take long for Artemis to show up. She was doing a circular flight pattern over the neighborhood, according to the satellite images. She was close, maybe a mile or two off. And she seemed to know what she was looking for.

"She's powerful, but not very sophisticated," said Diana. "She'll probably try to ram her way down through the foundation and into the cave."

"It'd be tough," I said. "auto-lock Predator missiles, defensive turrets, even some Thanagarian laser tech. . .this place is designed to hold off small armies."

Diana was shaking her head, her arms crossed in front of her. "Believe me, she _is_ a small army. Better, even. We'd better have other options in play."

I didn't respond, because I knew she was right. I thought back to my brief tussle with Artemis in the Watchtower. That had been play and posturing. But technique only goes so far. No way could I take her in an actual battle, not by myself. She'd tear me to pieces, and then probably do worse to Diana. Every available Leaguer was in Themyiscera, too far away to be of any use to me.

Meanwhile, the satellite feed, showed Artemis honing in on the manor. Her elevation decreased, she was coming in for a closer look.

_Think, Bruce. Think. _

* * *

**Themyiscera**

"Dr. Fate," chuckled Ares. "I should have known."

Mera swung her sword lazily in a series of practice blows. Ahead, the main forces steadily advanced, while Ares and his cadre of enhanced warriors stood back to observe the opening blows. Mera hadn't recognized the name Ares uttered, but the measured respect in his voice gave her pause.

Ares turned to her, the corner of his mouth curling slightly upward. "Even if you knew the man I refer to, I doubt you could appreciate his gift. Quite remarkable, as mortals go, really.

"His gift?"

"A true communion with forces of magic that permeate this universe. I must say, bringing him here was a stroke of genius."

Mera rolled her eyes. "Can we kill him?"

"You'll have to," said Ares, almost remorsefully. "He'll be well-protected, probably in one of the outlying buildings. The League wouldn't have brought him if they didn't think they could protect him. Which is why I need you to throw everything we have at him."

Mera didn't bother confirming the order. The energy burning inside her was far too restless. By the time Ares had finished his sentence, she and the other Reapers were racing out into the battlefield, eager to kill this Dr. Fate, along with anyone else who stood in their way.

* * *

**Diana**

"Alfred, I'm going to try containment," said Bruce, his voice grave. I replayed the sentence in my head, not quite sure what it meant.

Alfred knew though, and he didn't seem to like it one bit. "Sir, that's not-"

Bruce cut him off with a sharp glare, some hidden subtext passing between them. I considered voicing my confusion but decided the hell with it, I had enough to worry about as it was. "Stay here," he instructed the butler. "Alert me when she breaches the perimeter."

Alfred looked extremely unhappy, but he simply nodded. "As you wish."

Bruce was already turning to me though. "Come on, we're going to the armory."

"What for?" I wondered, even as I stepped up my pace to catch up. He was walking fast and with this. . .determination. It seemed off somehow. What the hell had he and Alfred been talking about?

He kept his gaze locked forward. "What do you _think_?"

"You have something in there that'll do her damage?" I pressed, not appreciating the condescending tone.

"Perhaps. One way to find out."

"Is the Prodigal suit in there?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Good, that should give us a bit of an edge against Artemis."

He nodded, absently. "We're here." He keyed in the correct code and a section of cave wall slid away with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a space the size of a large bedroom, stocked with hundreds of different types of weapons, both old and new. Pale blue lights streamed down from above, casting the ordnance in a harsh, clinical glow. There were swords, daggers, spears, nunchucks. . .and more recent combat innovations of course. Grenades, mines, modified riot shields, and even what looked like a shoulder-mounted missile launcher.

What caught my eye though was the armor, shielded in a Plexiglas case. I knew without a doubt that it was the Prodigal suit, and it couldn't have looked more different from my Wonder Woman garb. It was glossy and black, yet even where the mannequin's joints were engaged the material was creaseless. It was a full-body suit, leaving only the head exposed. There were silver-on-black gauntlets that looked like they housed some pretty impressive tech, and similar looking boots. The black of the suit was broken up by thin, silver lines that traced up the arms and across the shoulders. There was also a silver emblem- outstretched wings- on the upper torso.

"Wow," was all I could manage.

Bruce just nodded. Strangely, he wasn't sifting through any of the weaponry in here. And despite what he said, I doubted that any of it would slow down Artemis.

I tried to lighten up the silence with a laugh. "How am I gonna get that thing on?"

"I don't know," said Bruce. He had moved, now standing outside the door. He hadn't picked up anything from the armory, so why was he in such a hurry to leave now? "I'm sorry."

"No it's fine, I'll figure it-" Then, right when it hit me that he was talking about something entirely different, the hydraulic door slammed shut between us. "Bruce!" I ran to the door, pounding on the smooth surface and getting nothing for my troubles but bruised knuckles. I stepped back in disbelief. "You can't be serious!"

But he wouldn't have been able to hear me, even if he were right outside the reinforced doors. They'd keep in the sound. And a lot more besides, which ruled out the possibility of using the grenades to blast my way out.

_Bruce, what the hell are you doing?!_

* * *

Above, Artemis circled triumphantly. The Wayne manor was impossible to miss down there, sheer opulence surrounded by mere wealth. She remembered Ares' descriptions, and besides it just looked like the kind of place and arrogant cur like Batman would choose to dwell.

She smiled wickedly and went into a straight dive. She figured there had to be defensive measures around the perimeter, not that they would do much good. Especially since she was expecting them. Lasers perhaps? More bullets? Turrets mounted in the roof?

The Manor didn't disappoint. Now only a few hundred feet above, the place sprang to life. Automatic photon cannons disengaged from their hidden housings in the ornate statues in the garden, while dozens of slots in the roof opened up to disengage a swarm of small, airborne drones. The former started firing almost immediately, though the photon blasts were nothing against her bracelets. Even those that got through didn't hurt that much- she was getting used to the invulnerability thing.

The drones made a beeline straight for her as she worked to fend off the photon cannons. The first one, right before collision, simply exploded, its nitroglycerin-enhanced payload detonating once it was in range of its target. The shockwave rocked Artemis back, which was the only thing that saved her from several more explosions in her face. Those were harder to shrug off- in fact she doubted she could take even a few more of the drones if they kept blowing up in front of her.

Quickly, she whipped out her bow and took aim, a perfectly released arrow destroying two of the drones a split second later. The bow itself was a gift from Hephaestus, the arrows enchanted by Artemis' own namesake. That, combined with her own superb marksmanship, made taking out the rest of the drones child's play. She even managed to get the photon cannons to destroy two for her with a bit of deft maneuvering.

Suddenly, the photon cannons stopped. The entire mansion seemed to go quiet, as if it had just transformed back into a normal house. Artemis laughed, descending until she landed softly on the roof. "I hope that's not all you have, Batman. It would be almost a shame to kill someone so. . .inept."

She didn't know if he could hear that or not, though she was sure he was watching her. Down there, in his little cave. As if a few tons of earth and steel could come even close to protecting him now.

A few hard punches and she was through the titanium-reinforced roof. Debris and sawdust fell down through the gaping hole. _The entire neighborhood had to have heard that one_, she thought wryly as she descended.

Inside, it was dark, the pillar of moonlight from above ring by inky blackness in the cavernous room she'd just entered. She could practically taste the wealth. Even in the near-dark, the sheer size was apparent. And the accoutrements. . .a grand piano, some rare art, a statue or two. . .even from what little she knew of human culture, it was clear that Bruce Wayne had reached the pinnacle.

Interesting as all that was though, she merely saw decoration. Disguise, for the real secrets of Wayne Manor. She flexed her fingers, anticipation mounting. Ares had told her what she'd find, even further down. And he probably didn't even know the half of it. She'd take it apart, and then she'd do the same and worse to Batman.

She didn't land. Withdrawing another enchanted arrow, she took aim at ground. _Let's see just how far down this goes. _

* * *

**Bruce**

For once, Alfred didn't lecture me. He didn't have to, I could feel his glare even from the other end of the cave. Even weeks ago, that would have been enough. Hell, Alfred could put the Batglare to shame. Too much had happened too soon though, especially with Diana. She was far too vulnerable to face Artemis alone, without her powers. She and Alfred might never speak to me again, assuming I survived the next ten minutes, but even that was a better alternative to Artemis getting face time with Diana. With any luck-

A deep, ominous rumble sounded from above, like an explosion. I swung toward Alfred, who was busy programming one of the command consoles. His mouth was set in a grim line. We had minutes, at best. Seconds, at worst.

"Get out of here, Alfred," I said evenly.

"Or what, you'll lock me in a storage room too, Master Bruce?"

"If I have to," I shot back.

Alfred just shook his head. "I've put in a distress call to the Watchtower," he said at last. "If and when they have personnel to spare. . ." there was really no point in finishing the sentence. We both knew that by then it would be far too late.

"Go," I repeated. When I looked back up, he was gone."

There was another explosion, this one causing stalactites to jar loose from the ceiling. Close, but she hadn't gotten to the last layer yet. That one had a special surprise in store.

Another explosion, this one followed by the crackle of hundreds of chain detonations. I watched grimly as the roof caved in, tons of dirt and steel crashing down into the Cave. Artemis had joined a very small, very elite club of people who had managed to break into the Batcave. It wasn't a club I was fond of, which was why the payload of enhance claymore mines she'd tripped in the process didn't bother me. They were better than military grade, each individual one spraying a lethal payload off shrapnel and thermite-coated ball bearings. I'd seen enough to know that it wouldn't take Artemis down. But it certainly wasn't helping her day.

"Cave, blackout," I said as a voice command. And as Artemis descended, the Cave was instantly plunged into darkness.

* * *

**Olympus **

"How dare he?!" seethed the goddess Athena, the events transpiring on Earth playing out on a magical viewing sphere. She, Aphrodite, and Hera had gathered at the former's request. It seemed that the mortals were getting themselves in quite a bit of trouble.

Aphrodite did not join in Athena's righteous indignation. "Obviously the mortal is in love with her. His protective instincts may be foolish and misguided, but who in the throes of unspoken love isn't?

Athena remained unconvinced. If the mortal won't even let her face Artemis, then how will she be able to prove herself? It is not his fight."

"Yet he recognizes what Artemis will do to poor Diana," intoned Aphrodite. They both turned to Hera. "If only we could restore her powers."

Slowly, the divine matriarch shook her head. Her eyes, like theirs, were focused on the events unfolding below. "That Ares deceived us does not alter our subjugation to the rules. The only way that Diana can regain her powers is to defeat Artemis or to convene a temple ceremony calling for reinstatement. Clearly, the latter will not happen- the Amazons are far too preoccupied with keeping the Gates of Tartarus closed. Diana will have to accomplish this one without our help.

"Curse Ares, and may the souls of all who follow him rot for eternity," spat Athena.

Aphrodite merely bowed her head. "Curse the lot of us, for how foolish we have been."

* * *

**Bruce**

"Would you like me to let you in on a little secret?" said Artemis, hovering closer somehow.

I frowned, retreated further into the outcropping of rock on which I was perched. "Go ahead," I said slowly, never taking my eyes off of her glowing green form in the cowl's NVG mode. Somehow, she was facing me.

She tapped her tiara. "Ares had Hephaestus add a few perks to the armor," she said smugly. "Including a few locator enchantments. The tiara can track anyone it fixes on anywhere. Even in here. In pitch black. I'm still figuring out how to work it but as I'm sure you can imagine-"

Almost too late, I realized that as she'd been speaking she'd also been unsheathing her bow. I dived off of my ledge, spreading the cape into glide mode mere fractions of a second before one of her arrows slammed into the spot I'd just occupied. There a violent explosion, the concussive force landing me on another, lower ledge harder than I'd intended. Chunks of rock the size of footballs were raining down. I shuddered to think what the arrow would have done if it hit me.

"Oh, and the bow and arrow of course," crowed Artemis, laughing as she nocked another arrow. "Much more dramatic than a silly lasso, you must admit. How many can you dodge, I wonder?"

I wasn't even listening. I was watching her draw back, having honed in on my position again. This time, when she let fly I was prepared. Timing it just right, I let loose an impact just before she made her shot. The arrow had barely left the bow when it collided with my batarang, resulting in a spectacular explosion that threw Artemis a good ten meters.

To her credit, she responded quickly. Rolling to absorb the blast, she came up with her bow still out and another arrow pointed straight at me.

"Auxiliary lights, full power," I yelled into my wrist mike as I keyed the cowl's NVG off. I shut my eyes tight as, with an abrupt hum, the Cave's secondary lights went online. I felt the displaced air an arrow nearly missing me, only to obliterate a stalactite in the distance. More importantly, I heard Artemis scream.

Her eyes had adjusted to the light, even if she didn't need it to track me. Her pupils would have been huge, involuntary soaking in all the ambient light they could get. It was a natural, physiological response to the total darkness. One that worked fairly well.. .

As long as it stayed dark. With the auxiliary lights on full output, the cave was _blindingly_ bright. Not quite like looking at the sun, but not that far away either. The raw assault on her eyes had to have incapacitated her, at the very least. Like her skull was on fire.

She screamed again, angrily, disoriented and in pain. She'd dropped the bow, both hands desperately clutched over her eyes. The light glinting off of her armor was hard to look at, even with the light filters built into the mask.

I unhooked a pair of KOMBatarangs, specially-designed batarangs that telescoped into three-foot long handheld weapons. Blunt-edged and durable, they presented a far better alternative to hitting her with my fists. Plus, they dished out punishing electrical discharges on contact. Kevlar or not, merely punching someone with her degree of invulnerability would be like punching granite. They could prove quite useful.

"Welcome to the Batcave," I muttered, leaping into action.

* * *

**Diana**

"Bruce, you bastard! You dirty, filthy, lying-" I pounded the door again, ignoring my throbbing hand. It occurred to me that my vocabulary, especially where obscenities were concerned, was woefully inadequate. It also occurred to me that I wouldn't be getting out of this storage locker anytime soon.

Defeated, I slumped down on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. What was he thinking! No way Bruce could handle-

I heard a low thud, and the entire room seemed to shake, just for a moment. Oh, Hades! She was here. Bruce wood get himself killed trying to go it alone and. . .and what? _Protect_ me? Hadn't I proven myself already?

I took another, harder look around the armor. So many weapons, but none that would pierce those doors without tearing me to shreds as well. Hell I'd need my old powers if I was going to be breaking out.

Backing up in resignation, I bumped into the Plexiglas case that contained-

The Prodigal suit. . .I whirled around the glimmer of hope once more beginning to take root. I'd never worn the suit, but now was as good a time as any to try. With any luck, one of those modifications Bruce and Alfred were so proud of would get me out of here.

* * *

**Themyiscera**

The second incursion was even worse than the first. Even more savage, somehow. The Separatists seemed tireless as ever and all pretenses of honorable combat had been stripped away, as far as most of the Loyalists were concerned. They were a group who had seen a large number of their own killed in a matter of hours, a catastrophic loss of life for the island.

They wanted to end this. And while they couldn't match the mind-controlled Separatists in raw power or savagery, they could fight _smarter_. They began to alter the phalanx, creating pocket killzones for the Separatists to rush into, only to be felled by spears and arrows. It was an unconventional tactic, but using it allowed the Loyalists to maintain a more even footing this time around.

Things would have gone even more smoothly, of course, if the League had been able to assist Hippolyta's troops with handling the main army. The first impediment to this was the hesitancy on the part of most Leaguers present where lethal force was concerned. It wasn't their fault, really. The mandate to preserve, and not take, lives had been drilled into them from day one.

What worked on Gorilla Grodd, however, was pitifully ineffective here against the zombified Separatists. Green Arrow learned this the hard way, when one of the lead warriors took a boxing glove arrow straight to the face, only to reorient herself moments later with another sword brandished. Across the front lines his comrades were having similar experiences. From Vigilante's stun rounds to even Huntress's crossbow bolts, the usual tactics seemed to do little more than prolong the inevitable.

"I thought your League was to actually be proficient in combat," gritted out Philippus as she snapped the neck of an opponent who'd ventured too close. "Instead it looks as if they can barely hold their own."

"They're heroes," said Shayera defensively, her darting behind Philippus to spot any attacks from behind. "Not warriors. There's a difference."

Philippus didn't look convinced, but neither did she argue the point. "This is getting nowhere fast," she observed, switching tracks. "Once again, we tire while the traitors remain inexhaustible. And we cannot survive another battle like the last one. We need to go to the source."

"Ares? From what I hear it's a good thing he hasn't entered the fray. It'd take your whole army to have even a chance."

"Something I wouldn't rule out," said Philippus, "were my whole army not fighting for its life against these. . .abominable hordes. Besides, we have an advantage. Your-"

It was not a sentence that Philippus was allowed to finish. Seemingly from nowhere, a tall, ferocious-looking woman burst into the fray, her sword swinging toward Philippus' neck in a powerful, deadly arc. Only quick reflexes on the part of the general saved her from a quick decapitation as she ducked and rolled back out of range. Her eyes went wide, then narrowed when she saw her attacker.

"Mera."

* * *

**Bruce**

I hit her with everything I had.

The batarangs were out as fast as I could throw them, every trick in the bag. Concussion detonators, flash pellets, incendiaries. . .it was enough ordnance to put down a riot.

I activated the cowl's noise cancellation just in time to escape the effects of the sonic batarangs I'd thrown, powerful enough to cause even a false Wonder Woman to lose her balance. As her inner ears worked to unscramble her sense of balance, I finally got within striking range.

No way was I hitting her with the gloves- I liked my hands nice and unbroken too much. With the KomBATs though, it was a different story. I struck with as much force and fury as I could muster, aiming for soft spots. Trachea, eyes, temple. . .blows that would have been absolutely lethal to any regular human. As it was, the impacts didn't seem to jar her as much as the electric shocks. It was a weakness that I knew Diana had had, and that I was counting on Artemis to possess as well.

Despite everything that I was throwing at her however, she was adapting rather impressively. She'd learned the hard way that blocking my KomBATs only caused the electrical current to conduct through her bracelets, so she'd started using her head, and throwing some technique at me. It was the same Greco-Roman derivative style that Diana had demonstrated during our sparring lessons, though I had to admit that with the speed and strength of the gods behind it it was considerably more effective.

I managed to land a powerful electrical jolt to her temple and, overconfident, attempted to ram my reinforced gauntlet spikes into her exposed throat. Despite her pain however, she saw it coming just in time to catch my forearm, trapping it between her chin and collarbone with inhuman strength. She tightened the vise, eyes flashing with fury, and waves of pain shot through my arm as the gauntlet itself began to buckle and give way. The KomBAT in my left hand dropped involuntarily and I realized that if I didn't do something soon she would actually crush my arm.

I wrenched away from the grip, as if I were making a last-ditch escape attempt. She simply squeezed harder, missing the way I was using the newfound distance to line up a vicious kick. It connected laterally across her kneecap, and despite the steel-lined boots it felt like kicking concrete. Still, it was enough to get her attention and she promptly flew back, releasing my arm. The gauntlet was completely deformed, cutting off circulation so I immediately popped the release catch and let it fall to the ground.

I took my eyes off of Artemis for a second though, and that was an even bigger mistake. Because she hit me like freight train and then whisked me up in the air, straight toward the stalactites. Ignoring the sound of my own ribs breaking, I realized her obvious intention to impale me on the calcified spikes jutting from the ceiling. I headbutted her in the soft cartilage of her nose, which had no effect whatsoever. I tried gouging into her eyes, which proved equally useless. She gripped me in a deathly hug that threatened to completely shatter my spine, my cape trailing uselessly behind. . .

Or maybe not. "Glider mode," I said weakly into the cowl mike, praying enough of the suits electrical systems were intact to implement the command.

The fact that they were saved my life. Seconds before impacting with the stalactites, my inert cape sprang into its glider formation, rigid skeletal structures forming like wings of a bat. Fully extended, the cape can get a wingspan approaching twenty feet. More than enough to create a sudden burst of wind shear, which caught Artemis completely by surprise. She was whipped violently sideways by her own momentum, crashing into the side of the rock formation. Her hold went completely slack, and I half-fell, half glided back down to the ground. Hard enough to crumple the frame, and render my cape useless.

I discarded it, just like I had the gauntlet. And I watched Artemis fall back to the ground, crashing headfirst. It was too much to hope that she'd broken that invulnerable neck of hers in the process, but I did anyway. Despite myself.

Mental systems check. Broken bones? Two cracked ribs for sure, maybe three. The pain, I could handle but another hit or two would give me internal bleeding to worry about. Then I'd be in trouble. Or, more trouble anyway.

She got up, gingerly, but not exhausted by a longshot. She was covered in fine rubble, her armor and skin tarnished and dirty. She didn't seem to mind, if the next words out of her mouth were indication.

"You know," she said. "You've hurt me like no one ever has before."

I said nothing. I was staring at her, trying to pick up a tell, or a weakness. Something I could exploit.

She popped her knuckles. "Only fair for me to return the favor.

* * *

**Themyiscera**

"Whoa!" exclaimed Shayera when she caught a glimpse of Mera. "What happened to her?"

Philippus' mouth was set in a fierce snarl. "Ares has endowed her with a token of his own power. She is literally burning with the mad god's rage.

"Yeah, well not fast enough," Shayera muttered. Mera didn't even seem to notice the Thanagarian--all of her attention was focused on Philippus.

"I do believe we have a score to settle," called out Mera, the veins in her hand pulsing as she splayed them along the length of her sword's hilt. Her voice was unsettling, inhuman. It sent a chill right down Shayera's spine, just hearing it. And those eyes, they looked sightless, blood red with the dark power of Ares brimming behind them. The woman radiated raw energy, enough to make Shayera doubt that Philippus could survive the upcoming encounter.

"Shayera, report back with the main force," said Philippus evenly through gritted teeth. "This one is mine."

Shayera didn't move, swinging her mace to the ready. "No way are you taking her on your own," she retorted.

Mera glanced back and forth between them, amused. "Two maggots to crush. . .I am more than happy to oblige." She lashed out on the last word, not with her sword but rather with a blast of pure energy that nearly took off the top of Shayera's head. She'd ducked just in time however and, uninterrupted, the beam continued until it felled an unfortunate Separatist a good twenty meters away, leaving a gaping, smoking hole in her back.

Mera didn't seem to mind in the slightest, though she did switch tactics. She was a blur, rocketing toward Philippus faster than even the warrior woman's trained eye could follow. One lightning-fast slash parted a thin line of skin below Philippus' eye. Then Mera head butted her in the face. Kneed her in the stomach. Picked her up, one-handed, by her own tunic and slammed her to the ground. All in the space of about a second.

Mera slashed Philippus again, across the ribs. The felled general let out a gasp of pain despite herself, the burning sensation briefly overwhelming all else. She'd never been hit like that in her entire life, and could barely even process what had just happened.

Mera yanked Philippus up by the hair, forcing the woman into a kneeling position. She held the blade in front of the Amazon's eyes long enough for her to process what was about to happen, then raised it. Ready to kill Philippus in one brutal slice.

"Yaahh!" Shayera screamed. Bad form for a sneak attack, but Mera was unconcerned enough not to doge, catching the mace on her sword. "Wait your turn, outsider," she mocked. "You'll die soon enough."

Shayera laughed, something occurring to her. "Shame. All that magic and her I've got the only hunk of nth metal in the damn solar system." She slackened her hold on the mace, causing Mera to lurch forward unexpectedly. Then, like a gentle caress, she brushed the spiked edge across Mera's exposed arm.

The result was incredible. Mera howled in agony as the nth metal reacted with her own innate magic, causing the skin on her arm to fester and die, rupture blood vessels tracing a latticework of angry purple out from the wound.

Stumbling back, Mera tried to blast Shayera again. It was a weak, poorly-aimed attempt that did nothing to stop Shayera from slamming the into Mera's armored sternum. The metal buckled under the massive, sudden stress, sending Mera flying away.

Right into Philippus' waiting sword. The general was up on one knee now, fierce determination back in her eyes. With timing born from lifetimes of experience, she thrust the blade into Mera's back, through the ribcage, and into her heart, clanging into the metal of her armor on the other side.

Mera screamed again in pain and rage, and then suddenly went limp, as the dark energy in her corpse found release. What fell back to rocky soil was barely human, the chaos magic literally burning her away until virtually nothing remained.

Philippus nodded her thanks to Shayera, then went to retrieve her sword. Without so much as a glance back she waded into the battle once more. Her sword heaving through any Separatist in its range, leaving bright splashes of red blood arcing in its wake. Shayera stood, transfixed by the orchestra of violence all around her. It was like she was some phantom observer, truly seeing the slaughter taking place on the Themyisceran plains. The clang of steel swords glancing off of, bronze shields. Or worse, the medley of awful sounds made by a blade as it cut its way through flesh and bone.

The screams she did hear were horrific, but even worse was that there weren't more. Hundreds of messy battlefield impaling and amputations everywhere she turned. And the Separatists didn't make a single damned sound.

She heard a whistling sound to her right, and then her entire world went a familiar emerald green. She turned, and found herself face to face with the point of a sword, frozen in midair. Half inside the green bubble, half out. It was vibrating with pent up kinetic energy. And it would have sliced her head clean off.

"Thanks John," she said shakily, knowing who it was before she even turned around.

He floated down and around, in front of her. "You okay Shayera?"

"Yeah, yeah! I'm fine," she said dismissively. "I just, zoned out I guess."

John regarded her intently for a moment. "C'mon," he finally said. "This. . .this isn't our kind of battle."

"Are you suggesting we just abandon Hippolyta's forces to their own devices?"

"Actually, yes. They're quick learners, and seem to be holding their own now. Besides what we really need to do is get back and protect Dr. Fate. He's working on unraveling Ares' spell, which Ares seems to have figured out. He's sending waves after wave of shock troops, plus a few enhanced ones, against Fate's position. Holding them off is turning into quite the chore."

Shayera didn't need to ask what he meant by 'enhanced ones'- she'd just gotten her own taste with Mera. If there were more Separatist troops like that wandering around she wasn't sure she wanted to meet them, nth metal or not.

She fluttered into the air. "Well, let's go then."

* * *

**Diana**

Okay, first things first. I had to break the glass. It didn't look like anything too impregnable, which I really hoped was the case since there wasn't much of anything in the armory that I thought I could use to shatter it.

I tore off a strip of my dress, wrapped it around my right fist, and drew back for a shattering blow. With my left hand, I felt out the glass. It was completely smooth, almost slick to the touch. And beyond it just might be my way out.

Suddenly however, the entire case seemed to vibrate, and then the glass seemed to partition, moving toward floor and ceiling on its own. I realized belatedly that the storage case must have been tuned to my biometrics.

Which left me standing in front of the suit itself. Black and sleek, full-body with a blue eagle symbol on the chestplate. It fit the mannequin like a glove, and even on closer inspection I couldn't find a single seam.

I ran my fingers across the matte black exterior, the material feeling hard as armor yet somehow flexible. What was it made of?

More importantly, how the hell was I gonna get in it?

* * *

**Bruce**

Artemis slammed me into the ground, by my own cape. Despite the fact that it knocked every ounce of breath from my body, all I could think was that this was a pretty embarrassing way for the fight to end. I was doubly glad Alfred and Diana couldn't see it, and behind the screaming pain I resolved never to mention this part of the fight. If I survived.

She laughed and tried it again, swinging me in a grip so powerful that it felt like the eye of a tornado. Still, I had enough presence of mind to hit the cape release on the suit's collar. The centrifugal force hurled me away from a momentarily confused Artemis, who was left holding an inert cape in her hands.

Another breaking sound, my scapula probably. My entire right arm was just. . .wrong. I tried moving the fingers. It was like trying to make a remote work without the batteries. Nothing.

My left was hardly in better shape, but the built-in circuitry was still just operational enough for one last attempt.

I saw the savage kick coming- didn't even bother trying to stop it. It caught me just above the hip and spun me around. I mentally ticked off, _Eight_

She stomped on my hand, digging in with the heel of her toe. Excruciating didn't even begin to describe it. I coughed, violently. Blood spattered on the ground. _Seven. . .Six._

She picked me up, one-handed, by the front of my suit. One of her eyes was swollen almost completely shut, and I tried briefly to remember if that was something I'd done to her. I certainly hoped so.

"So tell me," Artemis said, almost conversationally, "What's going in the Batman's head? The world's greatest detective, so smart that he tried to pit his pitiful human strength against a goddess."

I laughed, despite the pain. "Goddess? Hardly." _Five, Four. . ._

"Brave words, but yet here I wield absolute power over life and death. I can hardly think of anything more divine, at least as far you're concerned." She laughed. "Would you like to know what I'm going to do to you?"

I coughed. "Are. . ." It was like a marathon, the simple act of breathing. _Three. . ._

"Yes? I can't hear you Batman."

"Are you hitting on me?" _Two_

The expression on her face was priceless. Shock then a slow, simmering anger. Insulted didn't even begin to describe it.

_One_

In a single, fluid motion I broke her grip and backflipped, in her face as I pushed off. It was clumsy by my usual standards, but it was fast enough that she didn't quite know what had happened.

And then about a tenth of a second later, the Batmobile rammed into her at 200 miles per hour. It was on silent mode, tiny plasma jets on the undercarriage creating a microscopic, frictionless layer between the wheels and the ground. Virtually silent- the engine a low hum and the air resistance like a breeze. If Artemis had been alert, she still would have heard it but her focus had been on me.

I heard the distinctive, shrieking crunch of violently compacted metal. Titanium-reinforced vehicular armor impacting with a supernaturally invulnerable body. The chassis carried her all the way into the opposite cave wall, crushing her there with every ounce of horsepower it had.

Then the security systems kicked in. My mind flashed back to not that long ago, when I and Alfred had been installing the electric discharges in the Batmobile. I heard them go off with a crackle, like lightning.

I turned toward the wreckage barely able to stand up. This was my last card to play. If it didn't take Artemis out. . .

"Batmobile." My voice was a hoarse mockery, like a laryngitic nursing home patient. "Self-destruct.

* * *

**Diana**

The suit seemed to open like a flower once I found the right clasps, and I quickly realized that it wasn't exactly designed for clothes to be worn underneath. Considering that the only garments I had at the moment were a ruined ball gown, I decided that wasn't too much of a problem.

I disrobed. Pulled the dark sheath around me and let it close back up, welding shut all the way up to the bottom of my chin, my face and hair suddenly the only parts of my body left free.

I gave just the smallest of flexes and suddenly the suit sprang to life. A holographic visor materialized in front of my eyes, and the next thing I knew a full range of HUD indicators were lining my peripheral vision.

"Whoa," I gasped, actually feeling the suit's energy invigorating me. I made a fist, and it was as if the suit were helping me, squeezing far more power into that simple motion than I would have been able to generate unaided.

My eyes went to the weapon racks and suddenly the HUD was generating all sorts of information. Distance, weight, height, specifications. . .it gave information overload a whole new meaning. I was tempted at first to try and follow every new bit of data that popped up, but quickly realized that focusing in my normal range of vision seemed to relegate the extraneous information to my periphery.

There was nothing inside the storage room reflective enough to serve as a mirror, so my aesthetic curiosities were put on hold for the moment.

It was time to see if I could break out. Standing in front of the doors, I whipped my body around forcefully, putting everything I had into a devastating back kick. The doors rattled and groaned, buckling and separating a bit where my kick had landed. I felt the immense shock travel through my leg, but it didn't even hurt- the suit was somehow absorbing and neutralizing the kinetic energy.

I inspected my handiwork, slightly amazed. I would have to ask Bruce why he didn't soup the Batsuit up like this. I wasn't anywhere near my old strength of course, but the suit's power definitely put it in the meta class.

I drew back and let loose with a flurry of punches, all aimed at that single spot where the doors met. Getting through solid metal would have been impossible, but the enclosure was structurally weakest right there at the joining, if I could just force them apart a bit more, I'd be able to get out.

So I kept punching. Methodically, and with focus. The alloy protested and it was enough noise to wake the dead, but after a few dozen blows. . .it was done.

Carefully, I stepped out into the hallway, dark and deserted.

I was out!

* * *

**Themyiscera**

Dr. Fate looked. . .well, dead.

He wasn't, of course. Dead men, for one, didn't float in mid-air. Neither did they glow with magical energy. Rather, Fate was in a deep trance, calling upon every mystical resource at his disposal. He'd been at it for over an hour, and it was getting harder and harder to protect him.

Not that the League wasn't doing a fine job. But someone had to relieve the weary Loyalist troops, and thus the far disproportionate brunt of the battle was falling to the superheroes. The Loyalists, rather than futilely engaging Ares' forces head-on, had settled for harassing them as they poured toward the building that housed Dr. Fate with a single-minded determination. The attrition for the Separatists was still high, but many were making it to the city outskirts.

Which was where the League came in. Outside of Dr. Fate's meditative cocoon, the League was busy desperately trying to prevent any of the Separatists from getting to him. Unbeknownst to them, he was perfectly aware of the sacrifices they were making. And he was working his hardest to make them worthwhile. If only he could figure out the last component of Ares' spell.

Outside, the Brazilian heroine Fire was tackled out of the air by a Reaper. The supercharged elite troop didn't seem to mind her trademark blaze in the slightest. The duo slammed back to earth and with a particularly vicious headbutt the Reaper knocked Fire out cold.

One of Vigilante's energy rounds caught the Reaper high in the chest, the wound sparking flame like a hot coal. The Reaper crossed the distance between them in about a second. For an accomplished marksman like Vigilante, this meant half a clip from each pistol emptied into her before she reached him. The wounds would have killed most humans five times over. The Reaper didn't even seem to notice. Her face was grotesque, peeling away like it was being consumed by some invisible fire. Her ruined mouth opened and Vigilante found himself slammed back from the foul energy that emanated from it.

The Reaper's eyes settled on Black Canary, who had been hitting her with a sonic scream the entire time, to no avail. She raised a glowing fist. . .

And then her head was gone, sliced off by an energy blade compliments of John's ring. The technique was crude, but given that the ring could produce edges mere molecules thick, _very _effective.

Black Canary, one hand on her throat, managed to nod a thanks. Meanwhile Green Arrow, Ice, and Gypsy helped bring Vigilante and Fire back to the town where some of the healers could give them medical attention.

Inside, Fate breathed a sigh of relief.

It was done.

* * *

Ares' assessment of the situation was. . .disappointing. The Justice League working in tandem with Hippolyta's forces were fighting far too efficiently. It wasn't the heavy losses the Separatists were taking- they were mere puppets after all. But there was nothing he enjoyed more than a good fight. The stale, acrid fear. The rage, the exhaustion, the bloodthirst that quickly and surely overtook any semblance of humanity. He could sense psychic stench, like an opiate aroma that energized him. Invigorated him.

But there wasn't enough emotion in this battle. The damn Loyalists were using their heads, adapting their strategies. They hadn't ceded control to frenzied violence, and they were winning. Worse, in the process they were giving what should have been a glorious battle a distinctly disappointing flavor. It just wasn't-

The psychic feedback hit him like a lightning bolt, stunning him for a moment. Almost before he'd thought the question, he knew the answer. Fate had done it, broken his entire spell. All across the battlefield, his puppets froze, then toppled over mid-lunge, stride, jump. . .it didn't really matter. He reached out to reanimate them, only to find that there was some kind of psychic distortion. Also Fate's doing. They clearly didn't call him a master sorcerer for nothing.

Time to end it then. He'd had his fun, and now that things were getting boring he was more interested in securing the Gates. Hades had waited long enough.

He gathered his energy. Focused his thoughts and his awareness. He could sense his Reapers dying, finished off by determined Loyalists, or the League, or in some cases by the overload of volatile energies literally burning them alive. It occurred to him, not for the first time that day, that Artemis would have been really convenient to have around.

No matter. His energies gathered, he rose up into the air. After Fate, Green Lantern was the most powerful. His damn ring had lit up the field, Ares recalled. Decimating scores of Separatists.

The god of war cracked his knuckles, an entirely human trait he'd picked up from his times among them. A chance to get his hands dirty. He could use the practice.

* * *

)

)

A/N: Okay, so if you're reading this then first I wanna say sorry for the long delay. got my laptop stolen for a Christmas present, and have only just gotten a new in the last month. That said, this is the second to last chapter, the longest, and yet only half of all that I wanted to include lol. Forgive the obnoxious length. As well as any spelling/grammar/continuity issues. Any of the above are my fault alone.

That said, tell me what you think, constructive praise/criticism, or better yet, both, welcome.

Hope ya liked!


	14. Chapter 14

**Bruce**

The explosion seemed kind of pathetic. Logically, I knew that massive amounts of thermite that had just combusted in the Batmobile should be producing a world class boom. I also knew that the stuff was designed to create a sort of limited vortex, which immediately imploded upon itself to minimize collateral damage while maximizing primary damage. Which was why I wasn't instantly obliterated, along with the rest of the mansion. Artemis had definitely been hit by the explosion as hard as conceivably possible.

The question: would it be enough? Wonder Woman's invulnerability was a tricky thing to calculate. She was far more durable than most humans, without a doubt. But more vulnerable than Superman, if one disregarded her immutable bracelets. I'd seen her take a hit from a ballistic missile and get back in the fight minutes later. But then I'd also seen Ra'as Al Ghul, a lethal but completely non-powered foe, cut her with a fine-edged scimitar.

This was a different Wonder Woman, of course, but her powers were theoretically the same. Which was to say, completely unpredictable, like all magic. No science behind it, for all I knew her powers fluctuated with whatever breeze happened to be blowing up on Mount Olympus. And she had no 'kryptonite', to speak of, save for the fact that the maker of her armor never made anything without a. . .

_Weakness!_ The epiphany hit me a nanosecond before the debris did. Spinning me around by my right shoulder. _Dammit_, I thought before blacking out. I could only see the heels of her boots as my vision dimmed. Walking toward me, in a wounded but steady pace. _It wasn't enough. _

_

* * *

_

**Themyiscera**

The low boom seemed to shake the entire island to its core. The grounded Leaguers, as well as most of the combatants had to struggle just to maintain their footing.

John's gaze was swept skyward at the flying rocks. The origin of the shockwave was too far away to see, but the aftereffects weren't. Especially the bodies of Amazonian troops. They looked like rag dolls so high in the air, until they began to rain down, crashing violently into the ground, though quite dead already from whatever massive impact had sent them hurtling through the air in the first place.

He'd already guessed the person responsible when Shayera voiced it aloud. "Ares."

"Powerful son of a bitch," John muttered, his green aura glowing brightly. He glanced down at the hand on his arm. Shayera's. Her green eyes contained something he rarely saw in them: worry.

"He won't hold back," she murmured.

"Neither will I," John said. It was a rare occasion, having to feign a confidence he didn't feel. But he couldn't back down now- there was no one else here with a prayer of stopping Ares, especially with Dr. Fate so exhausted from the ordeal of undoing the god's enchantment.

Shayera looked like she wanted to say something, but the word somehow couldn't make it out. So she fluttered up and kissed him, softly on the corner of his mouth. "Go get him," she whispered.

John nodded. And then, in a flash of bright emerald and white, he was gone.

* * *

**Diana**

I got back to the cave just in time to see the Batmobile explode.

"Bruce," I thought aloud, shocked beyond belief. Somehow, I was convinced that he'd been in the vehicle when it hit Artemis and combusted. But no, he was off to the side. Standing, barely. Then, from the fireball of the wreckage came a small piece of debris, aimed well and fast enough knock Bruce off of his feet.

I swung my gaze back to the Batmobile wreckage, a mixture of awe and horror churning in my gut as Artemis climbed out of the burning metal fireball. She looked horrible, her hair a mess, her armor tarnished, and her skin bruised, bloodied, blackened all over. It had been a hell of an explosion, that was for sure.

Still, she was standing. Walking toward Bruce's unmoving form. "Artemis!" I screamed even as I rushed toward them. She couldn't hear me, maybe the blast had shattered her eardrums, for all I knew. Or maybe she didn't care. Her intention was clear, no more games. She aimed to finish Bruce once and for all.

She stopped just in front of him. Nudged his head off the ground with the tip of her boot, then let it fall limply back down. Then she raised her foot, so that the point of her heel was on Bruce's temple. With her strength, his skull would crack wide open.

She started to apply pressure, which was when I hit her. Not a dumb tackle, I was smart about it, kicking the back of her grounded knee with all the force I could muster while simultaneously using a headlock to wrench her torso in the opposite direction. She flopped off balance. I could feel the suit respond to my intentions, even while I braced my right elbow with my left hand and rammed it down into Artemis' stomach, just below her sternum. Despite what were probably literally rock hard abs, I felt something give. I rammed my palm up into the underside of her nose, and tried to get a knifehand blow into her eye with the other hand. She jerked her head to the side, catching the attack on her brow ridge. It was like hitting a brick wall.

She jackknifed her body violently, sending me sprawling off of her. I rolled and sprang back up, twirling out of the way of a lethal snap kick. With that momentum, I unloaded an elbow strike right into the base of her skull. Shattered cervical vertebrae, minimum, on a regular human. To Artemis, it was probably just an added headache

Her hand snaked up lightning fast intercepting my next blow and clasping firmly around my wrist. She squeezed, with the clear intent of crushing my hand. Then, suddenly, the suit was sparking. She recoiled back in pain, arcs of lightning leaping between my hand and hers. Then it stopped, the suit's HUD displaying that it needed to cool down before the next lightning burst.

I'd expected a lot of reactions from Artemis, but laughter was not one of them. She straightened up, as if oblivious t the fact that her hair was still smoking from my lightning attack.

"Something funny Artemis?" I growled, even as I shifted to position myself between her and Bruce. I'd be damned if my distraction gave her another shot at finishing him off.

She made a show of giving me a once-over. "I see you've developed the same lunacy as the Batman. Her laugh turned into a smirk. "Look how far you've fallen. From a princess to a vigilante's lapdog."

I could feel my ire rising. "You've taken many things from me Artemis, but my royal heritage is _not_ one of them."

"Yet. Your mother is being torn from her throne as we speak. Soon, she and the rest of those loyal to her will be dead. As will you, your _highness_."

The way she spat those words sent chills down my spine. She was not the first Amazon to betray her sisters, but until just recently the scale of her treachery would have been unfathomable. She disgusted me. If an Amazon was anything, above all else, it was loyal. True to her sisters and her queen. What Artemis and her followers had done was the antithesis of what had been taught to us for untold centuries.

It made me sick just to look at her.

"You don't deserve these powers," Artemis was saying as she circled in. I went into a defensive stance, praying that the suit would be able to protect me. "You're weak. You had them and squandered them in Man's World. You fell in love with the worst of their lot, an embarrassment to your people. And now, you wear some cheap toy he gave, thinking it will save you." She chuckled darkly. "You are so mistaken."

She moved so fast that it was literally like she'd vanished. Then, a fraction of a second later, I felt the tremendous, bone-crunching impact. The suit, I could tell, had dissipated the force as best it could. But I was still hurled back a few dozen meters, crashing into something hard and too smooth to be the cave wall.

I rebounded off and down, somehow managing to land on my feet after all that. I dodged, just in time to avoid one of Artemis' arrows. It skimmed narrowly past my shoulder and detonated against Bruce's giant penny, the mysterious object I'd been hurled against, I realized. The gigantic monument exploded from the force of her enchanted arrow, showering me with a hailstorm of jagged debris.

"Scared to fight up close Artemis?" I taunted, even as damage reports blared across my HUD. The suit had been rocked pretty hard by her last attack.

"Oh, I'm just toying with you," she called back. "Though I promise, when I do kill you it will be very up close and personal." She fired another arrow, which I had to execute a complete backflip to avoid.

It was almost a flawless maneuver too, except for the fact that I landed on some loose rubble from Artemis' initial incursion. Even the suit couldn't save my balance, as my ankle wrenched outward and I pitched backward, landing flat on my back.

Artemis laughed even louder. "Gold medal performance, that was not," she mocked as she readied another arrow. "Don't worry, this one's just to cripple you."

I gulped, hard. Time seemed to slow. I couldn't move out of the way in time, and even if I did survive one of Artemis' arrows, I'd be in no shape to save Bruce or myself. And she wouldn't miss from this range. I glanced over at Bruce's form, amazed to see that he was actually starting to get up. Stay down, I silently pleaded. She'll kill you.

Artemis followed my gaze. "You should see yourself," she murmured. "So concerned for him."

Bruce didn't seem to notice either of us as he shakily rose to his feet. I was petrified, too frightened, for him, to even consider moving. Artemis watched him with predatorial eyes. I could tell that deep down, even she was impressed that this mere mortal would come back for more. She didn't know him like I did.

"You should've just waited your turn," growled Artemis, adjusting the arrow so that it was aimed at Bruce.

He grinned, cockily. "All those powers, and you're so inept. Really, I bet you couldn't even hit me from there with that little trinket."

Artemis' eyes narrowed further.

He thumped his chest, something that I'd honestly never seen him do before. _Bruce, what are you up to? _"C'mon, just try and-"

Artemis fired, the arrow hitting Bruce so hard it picked him up off of his feet and pinned him to the Cave wall. All I could hear was a voice that must have been my own screaming "NOOOO!"

* * *

**Themyiscera**

"Why don't you join me here on the ground, Green Lantern?" called out Ares as he hacked two more of Hippolyta's soldiers to pieces with a single stroke of his massive sword. He was like a nightmare, cutting down Separatist and Loyalist alike with no compunction as he made his way toward the palace. And the Gates.

When no reply was forthcoming, Ares walked up to a wounded Loyalist who'd been trying to scramble out of his path. Her leg was badly injured and she couldn't do much more than drag herself across the rough terrain. When it was clear that the god of war had focused in on her, she desperately tried to rise to her feet.

The effort was futile. Ares chuckled as the poor girl's ruined leg gave way and she pitched over, landing roughly on the ground. He stood in front of her waiting until her eyes were open to raise his sword. "Foolish girl." He brought the sword down in a cleaving blow as the young warrior shut her eyes and screamed to the gods. And then, right before the blade could cut her in half, it was intercepted by a glowing green shield.

Ares' smile widened. "I was wondering when you'd come to face me, Lantern," he said, withdrawing his sword. He didn't intervene as John enveloped the girl in his ring's energy and lifted her back to the main force, where her wounds could be treated by the healers.

John didn't look amused. "You've caused a lot of deaths today, Ares."

Ares shrugged. "It's a gift. Besides, you have to admit that freeing Hades would be one hell of a payoff, no pun intend-" A hammer of solid green energy smashed into his face with pulverizing force just then, whipping his head back. Had he been human, the attack would have taken Ares' head clean off. As it was, he was merely annoyed. "Very well then," he snapped, his sword coming to the ready. "Let's get it over with then."

"Fine by me," retorted John, using his ring to fire brilliant emerald energy pulses at Ares. The god managed to block most of them on his sword, and those that got through didn't seem as effective as John had hoped. Time to switch tactics.

Except that Ares had no intention of giving him the luxury of time to think. With an inhuman roar, he loosed a fiery energy boost that knocked John off of his feet, despite his ring's protective barrier. The Green Lantern was only able to avoid the next blast by pure reflex, willing the ring to move him out of harm's way with a speed faster than the eye could follow

_Focus, John_, he could practically hear his old mentor Katma Tui admonishing him. The battle had only just begun and already he was beginning to lose focus. For Green Lantern, wearing a ring whose limitations were a pure function of the wearer's willpower, that could be a fatal mistake.

He dodged and blocked Ares' next volley before doing the unexpected ad actually moving in closer. Ares' speed, strength and reflexes were quite literally godlike, and the only thing that could protect John now was the ring and his own mental focus. So he used it. With all the will he could muster, he channeled the ring's near-infinite energy into a pair of singular manifestations.

A sword and a shield. Both, magnificent. Katma would have been proud- the manifestations were flawless and, with any luck could withstand Ares' attacks. Even damage the being who fancied himself a god.

Ares boomed a laugh as he and John faced off. "I like your style," he said, swinging his sword lazily in a one-handed arc. "All this flinging energy at one another, it's rather silly when you think about it. Sword against sword, strength against strength, just like in ancient times."

"And you'll get your ass kicked," John growled. "Just like in ancient times.

Ares' eyes smoldered. "Make your move."

And John did.

* * *

Shayera wished she could be with John, helping him. With her Nth metal mace, she was even a threat to Ares. Surely, part of her reasoned, she could be of some use.

But no, that was illogical. A mace made of Nth metal might even let her hold her own against Dr. Fate. But against a god? She'd be incinerated before she even got close enough to use it. No, this one was out of her League. She was of far more use helping with the recovery and refortification effort.

The main troops, along with the remaining Separatists, had fully moved back into the city, toward the palace. The Separatists were subdued, stunned. They offered no resistance at all. After what Ares had done to them, Shayera couldn't say she blamed them. It was a violation of the worst sort, and the battle had left scars that would take quite some time to heal for all involved.

Two women rushed by, rousting her from her thoughts. Noncombatants, judging by the lack of armor. She could tell by the wounded woman held between the other two that they were healers. Two of many, but not nearly enough at the moment.

"Good work you two, but there is still much to be done. Lifesaving procedures only, at the moment."

Shayera was relieved to hear the familiar voice. "Philippus."

"Shayera," greeted the general. She gestured out to the plains, where John and Ares' battle was evidenced by the flashes of discharged energy that occasionally lit the rapidly darkening sky. "Your man is faring exceptionally well."

Despite the circumstances, Shayera found herself blushing. "He's not exactly my man," she corrected. "Just a good friend."

Philippus nodded, as though the evasion was too transparent to even bother commenting on. "What of the rest of your League?"

Shayera sighed. "Ares and the Reapers were able to inflict a lot of damage. We have our own medics onboard our ships, but even their capabilities are being stretched to the limit. One fatality that I know of so far. Hopefully that's it."

"Well, as powerful as your ma- as the Lantern is, he will not last against Ares for too long. The other generals and I have been discussing the issue. We think you are the only one who can stop Ares now."

"Me?"

"Yes. None of us can stand up to him on our own, and his raw power is more than the equal of even your League. Sooner or later, he will push past our defenses and gain access to the Gates. That is a critical juncture- up until now he has not chosen to summon the key. But once he does, it can be destroyed."

"By my mace."

"Yes. It's a risky plan, but otherwise we run the risk of prolonging the inevitable. Ares is taking a more active role here than he ever has, something that he would never have risked because of the other gods' reaction. It is an acceptable risk to him now, because if he frees Hades then nothing they do will matter, his power will dwarf theirs."

Shayera snorted. "If your gods cared so much, then why haven't they intervened yet? Why did they allow a civil war on Themyiscera? Or allow Ares to get a key in the first place?"

Philippus' brow furrowed at Shayera's tone. "It is not my place to question-"

"Well, you'd better hope that piety pays off," Shayera interjected. "Because if I'm your best hope of stopping Ares, you'll need all the divine intervention you can get."

* * *

**Diana**

"Bruce!" I screamed, horrified. He wasn't moving, the arrow had gone right through and pinned him to the rock wall like a tack. It was nightmarish. The thought that Artemis had done that to him. . .

I whirled on her. "You bitch!" The punch was powerful, but clumsy. Uncoordinated from the rage and anger and loss. She batted it away like a nuisance.

I head butted her, right on the fleshy part of her nose. My skull throbbed from the impact, but she reeled back, her hand going up to stop the blood flow. That in itself was reassuring. I threw a purposefully slow kick, which she predictably blocked. So I zapped her again, the lightning in my suit having recharged. She cried out in pain, only fueling my anger.

I kept hitting her, receiving blows in return but barely noticing. It was like my body had gone on autopilot. Punch, elbow, knee, palm strike, punch, punch. I didn't even bother blocking. All I cared about was making the witch bleed. Stopping her. Doing to her what she had done to Bruce.

Her strength was fading. Hits that would have leveled me at her peak were only doing mildly serious damage. Her precision was off-key; she was missing more than she was connecting. And I was throwing everything I knew at her, everything Bruce had taught me and everything I'd learned as a warrior on Themyiscera. The results were visible. She was coughing blood, one eye swollen completely shut. Her nose just looked wrong, like it had been badly assembled in her face. Her games were over now; it was a fight to the death in its purest form. The possibility that I might lose didn't even cross my mind. I had to win, for Bruce.

I leapt over her shoulder and she made the mistake of trying to blindly swat me down. I caught her wrist, mid-leap, while it was already twisted behind her. And I wrenched, a judo technique I would never have the chance to thank Bruce for.

Her arm snapped at the elbow, a loud cracking sound echoing throughout the cave. I stared in wonder at what I had done, almost unable to believe it. When her roundhouse kick hit me I didn't even see it coming.

I had the vague sense of the world spinning chaotically. Then a blossoming pain, followed by pure blackness.

* * *

**Olympus**

Aphrodite dabbed at her eyes, her fellow goddesses barely noticing as they raptly watched the viewing sphere. "He was a noble man, courageous to the end. But now what will become of Diana?"

"She's doing rather well," observed. "Maybe, just maybe she can defeat Artemis."

"Maybe," mused Hera, doubt evident in her voice. "Time works against us; soon it will be too late for us all."

"Not if we are able to restore to Diana what we should never have taken in the first place," insisted Athena.

Hera was about to respond when a sharp gasp from Aphrodite startled her. "What is it?"

"The mortal," Aphrodite murmured in wonderment.

"What of him?" pressed Athena, testily.

Aphrodite pointed, her eyes wide. "He is. . .still alive."

* * *

**Themyiscera**

John Stewart knew he couldn't win this battle. Ares, when using his true power, was something unlike he'd ever faced before. He couldn't be hurt. He couldn't be outmaneuvered, outwitted. His physical prowess was on the scale of Superman, at least. And his divine powers were completely unpredictable. It was all the ring could do to protect him from Ares' hidden enchantments, actually using it offensively was draining energy far too fast.

He blocked an earth-shattering blow from Ares on his sword construct, wincing as the ring's psychic reverberations hit him. It was being taxed to its limits and beyond, while Ares looked like he could never tire.

"I see your exhaustion," smirked Ares, pressing his advantage with another flurry of swings. "It amuses me."

John didn't respond. He couldn't afford the energy.

"I wonder what will happen that frail little mortal body of yours once that ring can no longer protect you," mused Ares.

John surprised him by feinting and getting a blow in, slicing a furrow into Ares' arm. "Then I guess you'll get to tickle me with that trinket you're swinging."

Ares threw his head back and laughed, even as his arm wound healed itself on the spot. "This sword has slain _Titans_, you insignificant little insect. You're hardly fit to bloody my blade, I'd just as soon, stomp your carcass into the ground!"

John was ignoring Ares' boasting though. Instead, he keyed his communicator on to an open channel. "Shayera," he murmured softly. "How are we doing?"

"It's a mess over here," she responded. "We're evacuating the wounded and dead as fast as possible, but no one here is any position to go a round with Ares. We damn sure can't keep him away from the gates. How long can you last?"

Ares was back on the attack now, and it was all John could do process her words while fending off his slashes and thrusts. His responses were getting slower, the energy sword losing its luster as the ring's energy began to fade. Each clash of blades felt like a nail through his head. The sword was now being sustained on pure willpower alone, but that wasn't nearly enough.

"John!" Shayera said when he didn't answer. "Come in."

"He's about to win," John gasped, his breath coming in short bursts now. "I've bought you all the time I can. It's up to you all."

"Get out of there, don't let him kill you!" She yelled into the mike. "John!"

"Too late." His voice was weak and strained. "I'm losin' bad here Shay. He's just too strong."

"No!" Philippus was looking at her oddly, but she was far past caring. This couldn't be happening. . .could it? "John, listen! I- I loveyou!" It came out rushed and the only thing that greeted her in response was the hiss of static. She stared at the ground in shock, then angrily tore the communicator from his ear and threw it to the ground. "Dammit!"

Philippus hesitantly placed a hand on the Thanagarian's shoulder. "Shayera, I'm sure he managed to survive."

Shayera said nothing. The sense of loss was overwhelming. She'd never expected John to defeat Ares, but the thought he very well might have been killed made her want to curl up and die herself. She was suddenly sick of Themyiscera and Ares and-

"Shayera." Philippus' voice was still gentle, but firm. "I mourn your loss. But you are needed now more than ever."

"Yeah. Yeah, I-I know." Shayera ran a hand across her eyes, which were threatening some very uncharacteristic tears. She cleared her throat and turned around to face the assembled Leaguers and Amazons. They were all looking at her. Looking up to her.

Her words were simple. "Alright, Ares won't be long now. You all know the stakes. So we protect the Gates, with our lives if necessary." She bolstered her voice with all the confidence she could muster. "This ends here and now."

* * *

**Diana **

When I regained consciousness, the first thing I noticed was that I couldn't breathe. The second was that I was literally hanging off the ground, Artemis' viselike grip held me painfully in the air while my hands clawed ineffectually at her arm.

I couldn't breathe, and the oxygen deprivation was kicking in. My lungs were screaming, my entire body in complete panic mode. The HUD was blaring all red, not that I could read it. I didn't have to to know I was seriously close to death.

"Can you breathe?" asked Artemis, her voice hard as steel. Her grip tightened. "What about now?"

She was seriously close to crushing my trachea. There were spots dancing in front of my eyes.

"Guess your suit finally stopped shocking me," she observed. "Probably feels like a piece of high tech junk right now, huh." She squeezed even tighter. "Hear that, Diana? You know, like a little crackling sound in the back of your skull? Little brain cells popping, no oxygen. Maybe I shouldn't even kill you, hm? Maybe I should just leave you a drooling vegetable for the rest of your life. What about that, _pretender_?"

They were the last words she would ever say. I heard the horrible sound of pierced flesh, and Artemis gasped out in. . .pain? Her hold went slack and I dropped the ground, my back arching violently as I tried to draw every breath I could. I rolled over weakly to see Artemis standing still, a look of utter shock on her face. She coughed, blood coming out and trailing down the side of her mouth.

Then she keeled over, revealing the last person I expected to see behind her. Bruce. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a series of wracking coughs.

He stepped forward unsteadily, then knelt next to Artemis. He was pale, and had clearly lost a lot of blood from Artemis' arrow. Not that it was still in him, I realized.

It was buried in Artemis' back.

"She's dead," said Bruce. He'd completely removed his gloves, and I realized he'd been checking her vital signs.

"You're not," I said, as I struggled to sit upright. "That's all that matters to me."

"Not yet," said Bruce. "Internal bleeding's pretty bad." He was still kneeling, but his posture was slumped. Defeated. He smiled at me weakly. "Figured if anything could get through that bulletproof hide, it was one of her own arrows. Just. . .too bad she had to shoot me with it first."

I blinked, surprised at the gallows humor. "Bruce-"

The world around me shifted, before I could finish the sentence. It just vanished. The Batcave one moment and something entirely different the next. I felt a sudden sense of vertigo, like I didn't know up from down or in from out.

"Welcome to Olympus, Princess Diana of Themyiscera," said a voice so melodic and soothing I wanted to cry just hearing it.

She materialized in front of me, inhumanly beautiful. And not just her, other figures began to materialize in this strange otherworldly place. All with the same indescribable aura.

The one closest to me smiled. "I am Aphrodite, my child." She gestured behind her. "Hera, and Athena. Your confusion is understandable- this is not a place meant for mortals. Your presence here is a violation of sorts, but it is one that is quite necessary."

"But Bruce-"

"May live or die," said one of the other figures. Hera. "Either way, it is out of your hands now.'

Athena fixed her eyes on mine. "Time is our cruelest enemy, so you will need to acclimate to this realm as soon as possible." She paused. "We have much to discuss."

* * *

**Gotham**

"What a mess," muttered Agent Levin as he stepped out a black Agency sedan. This was his second time in this particular area of Gotham, though the differences between the two visits was astounding.

Wayne manor had been more or less leveled, though short of a ballistic missile array it was hard to imagine what had caused the damage. Eyewitness reports were even more unreliable than usual, and the local cops were clashing with Agency personnel as well. If it was up to Levin, the GCPD would be relegated to crowd control, but his boss had explicitly ordered him to include them in the investigation.

Special agent Keith Griggs eyed the wreckage from a slightly different viewpoint. It was a piece of a puzzle, falling into place. Clearly, what had happened to the manor was metahuman-related, an area in which his branch of Homeland Security specialized.

Not long ago, he'd confirmed that Wonder Woman, aka Diana Prince, was in Gotham city. Flirting with intelligence targets in bars, wasn't standard Agency protocol, but he preferred the amiable approach to Levin's all-guns-blazing philosophy.

From there, things had begun to make sense. She was employed at Wayne Industries under ingeniously clever false credentials. Recommended by Bruce Wayne himself. She had an apartment in her name, also purchased by Wayne Industries, but it was vacant.

A little more simple deduction: she was living with Bruce Wayne. Not altogether surprising- there had speculation about the two ever since they'd shared a dance in Paris. Still, Keith suspected there was more to it than that. Rumors that Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same had long dominated the intelligence community, most notably thanks to Amanda Waller and her Cadmus program. After that fiasco, every bit of information gathered under Waller's authority was considered as toxic as the woman herself.

Which was rather silly. Poor judgment or not, Amanda Waller had been an unrivaled genius in her field. So Keith had followed up on the Batman- Bruce Wayne link. It was very thin, as the man was meticulous about covering his tracks and manufacturing alibis. But Keith was convinced that the billionaire did a lot more with his nights than bed supermodels.

Levin tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "Alright, we finished the preliminary sweep. Looks like Bruce has security tech years ahead of even our stuff. Some pretty nasty weapons too, I'm thinkin we could put him behind bars for life just from the ordnance we found on the perimeter of the mansion."

Keith shook his head. "That's not the objective Levin, we just want to find out what the connection is between Wayne, Diana Prince, Prizm, and all the other weird stuff that's been focused in Gotham lately. Besides, the man's not an idiot. His company has defense contracts, he could put a thermonuclear warhead on the front lawn and we couldn't touch him. National security and all that."

Levin didn't look too pleased, but he didn't press the matter. "Well, power's been cut, though our thermals indicate a half dozen backup generators. We're set to breach, though apparently the butler's making himself something of a nuisance."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "Hold then, show me this butler."

Levin nodded briskly and led his superior through the mass of other agents, suiting up in full tactical gear. Reaching the front entrance of the manor, they came upon a distinguished, older man whose dress and demeanor told Keith immediately that this was the butler. He seemed to recall Waller having a file on him too. Just as Bruce Wayne was no ordinary billionaire, this man was no ordinary manservant.

The two agents with whom the butler seemed to be having an argument retreated, letting Keith take the center of attention.

The butler didn't seem the least bit intimidated, though he was a good head shorter than the senior agent. "You're in charge, I presume," he stated in a crisp British accent.

Keith took out his Agency badge as a courtesy. "Keith Griggs, Homeland Security. And your name?"

The butler still didn't seem impressed. "Alfred. I understand you wish to conduct an illegal search of the premises."

"The circumstances leave me in pretty good legal territory, wouldn't you agree?" countered Keith. "Clearly there's been rogue metahuman activity. Furthermore, it appears to have been the erstwhile replacement ambassador from Themyiscera, Artemis. If she's still in there, then national security concerns about her apprehensions outweigh your Fourth Amendment ones, understandable as they are."

Alfred didn't seem happy about it, but it was clearly a fight he hadn't expected to win. "Expect a formal complaint soon. For the moment though, it would appear there is nothing I can do."

Keith nodded. "I'm afraid not."

* * *

**Diana**

"Before you go on," I began, surprising even myself with the boldness of my tone in the face of goddesses, "I need to know that Bruce is alright."

"The mortal," said Athena flatly.

Aphrodite smiled. "The man you fell in love with."

I nodded, unashamed. "I do love him. I'm sorry if that disappoints you but I could never deny that fact."

Hera studied me for a moment before responding. "His injuries are grievous, beyond even the powers of Man's medicine to heal. However, I will grant you his life."

I bowed, out of respect. "I cannot express my gratitude."

"Nor should you attempt to. This human you've fallen for has made an impression upon us all. The courage he displayed against Artemis is rarer than you can imagine. That he actually managed to kill her is a feat that will be told among the gods for ages. Knowing this, it is easy to see why you chose him."

"Unfortunately," said Athena, "he is also a great part of the reason your powers were taken."

"You lost faith in me," I said softly.

"We did," admitted Aphrodite. "We lost touch with Man's World, and had rather unrealistic expectations about what you could accomplish. You performed your duties superbly, Diana, but it was a progress that was hard to perceive from our vantage point. Or that of your fellow Amazons. We now know that the civil war Themyiscera suffered was fomented by Ares, but he did so by preying on the very real fears and doubts of those like Artemis. The war was unspeakable, and all we could do was watch. We were forbidden to intervene as sister slaughtered sister."

Hera placed a hand on the shoulder of her fellow goddess. "The resultant truce was tenuous, as you know. It seemed ready to shatter at any moment. And then Artemis made her proposition: Simply replace you as Themyiscera's ambassador, and the island would know peace once more. Under the circumstances, how could we refuse? It was only later that we would learn she was being manipulated by Ares." She spat the name like a hateful obscenity. "We erred, and now we intend to do all in our power to make this right."

Athena stepped forward and grasped both of my hands. "Artemis has fallen. Were this ritual combat, your defeat of her would not be acceptable, because you were assisted by the mortal." She cracked something that almost resembled a smile. "Of course, there was nothing ritual about what transpired. So we are left without an ambassador." Her eyes seemed to bore into mine. "Would you accept your former powers and duties back?"

I took a deep breath, almost unable to believe what I was hearing. "Of course."

"Consider them yours. When you return to Earth, you will have your armor and your lasso. You will have all of the power that we can bestow upon you. And you will need it. Ares is on the verge of opening the Gates of Tartarus once and for all."

"And I'm the only one who can stop him" I finished, trying my best to absorb the news. "I can't wait-"

The same vertigo suddenly hit, as the heavenly atmosphere around me disappeared into black. And then, like I'd never left, I was back in the Cave. Except I was no longer wearing the Prodigal suit.

I had my old armor back. My old power. I could feel it coursing through every cell in my body. Compared to this, the Prodigal suit was a pale imitation. I nearly broke down at the sensation of it. Gods, how I'd missed this!

I heard a groaning sound, my head snapping in that direction immediately. "Bruce!" I cried, rushing to where he'd collapsed after finishing off Artemis. There was blood all around him, but he was miraculously conscious. I gently knelt next to him, cradling his torso in my lap.

"Bruce," I whispered, stroking my hand along the contour of his jaw. "You feel so. . .broken."

"Yeah," he coughed. "Remind me to run the other way next time I see a pissed off Amazon." His blue eyes, though slightly listless from the blood loss, were still sharp. "Where did you go, Diana?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He gave a trademark Bruce smirk. "I think I can figure it out."

I leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. "The gods have promised to save your life Bruce. You're not going to die."

"Which would explain why I'm still conscious after losing five pints of blood," he muttered. Reaching up, he placed a hand on my arm and squeezed. "You have to go stop Ares now, don't you?"

"Yes."

His eyes closed. "Go, Diana. I'll be fine. When you get back, there's so much I have to say to-"

I placed a finger on his lips. "When I get back, you're treating me to the best restaurant in Gotham, okay."

His head moved in a brief nod as I set him back down on the ground. "Count on it."

I stood back up, looking at the hole Artemis had made while breaking in, leading all the way up to the early morning sky.

It was time to fly again.

* * *

**Gotham**

Diana's takeoff was about as subtle as a fighter jet. The sonic boom she left behind when she hit and then surpassed Mach 1 was an explosive crack, setting off countless car alarms in the area.

Agent Levin's sunglasses came off in sheer stupor. "What the hell was that?" Even Alfred, the butler looked shocked.

Keith pulled out his sidearm and nodded to the advance teams. "Breach now," he commanded, sending swarms of agents in through every available entrance to the mansion. It was pitch black inside, though the crisscrossing beams of light from the agents' weapons provided some illumination.

"Clear!" Keith called as they circled around the clearly-recent hole in the ground. Their light couldn't even penetrate to the bottom, it went so deep. Not that that would stop them. He had a hunch that if Bruce Wayne was Batman, the home base for his nocturnal activities would be down there.

One agent tossed a lit flare down the hole, where it seemed to fall forever before the stationary pinprick of light at the bottom let them know it had reached ground. From there, things moved blazingly fast. Rappel lines snaked down the chasm and agent after agent slid down, moving a troop force of over 35 men in less than five minutes.

When they'd all reached the bottom, as if on cue, the backup generators kicked in and the strange cavern was bathed in fluorescent light. Keith could hear the simultaneous safety clicks of dozens of automatic rifles, but he held his own sidearm in check. Somehow, he didn't think there was any danger here. Not anymore.

It didn't take long to find the billionaire. He was seated against one of dozens of display cases in the underground chamber, wearing a tuxedo that had clearly seen better days. It was covered in dirt and blood, and the man himself didn't look much better.

A hand signal from Keith and two of the recon medics rushed forward to provide basic assistance. The rest of the men were searching the cavern, though somehow it was a bit underwhelming. Keith has expected arrays of weapons, Batman armor, even a Batmobile. This was more of a museum though, just display cases everywhere, filled with what looked to be antiques from Gotham's past. His men could hardly move freely, lest they break them all.

"Bruce Wayne," he said once he got within hearing distance. "How are you feeling."

"I've seen better days, Agent. . ."

"Griggs," offered Keith. "Keith Griggs. Homeland Security." He paused. "Care to tell me exactly what the hell happened here?"

Bruce Wayne closed his eyes, as if trying to remember. "It all happened so fast, Agent Griggs. I remember that new Wonder Woman, Artemis. She attacked the mansion out of the blue. I tried to hide down here, in my little display room, but she found me. Said she was going to kill me. I'm surprised she didn't, actually." He looked up. "Past that it's such a blur."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "Display room, huh." He made a show of looking around. "You know, I see a lot of recent damage in here, Mr. Wayne. Scorch marks, blast residue, that kind of thing. You'd think one of the. . .exhibits might have been damaged amidst all that."

Wayne shrugged as he was lifted onto a makeshift stretcher. "Lucky I guess."

"Oh, I don't think luck had anything to do with it."

Wayne smiled differently this time, a hint of the true intelligence beneath his eyes showing through. "I'm not sure what you and your men used this pretext hoping to find. But I can assure you, you won't find it."

Keith pursed his lips. "Well, we'll certainly try, Mr. Wayne. In the meantime, you'll be airlifted to the nearest hospital. Expect to be more. . .thoroughly debriefed there."

He flashed a grin. "Anything for my country."

* * *

**Diana **

I'd never flown this fast before.

It scared me, the thought I could be doing all this under my own power. I was streaking by airplanes like they were standing still in the air, leaving a funnel of displaced vapor in my way as I streaked toward Themyiscera. The energy was almost enough to make me feel I had a chance against Ares.

I reached the island in what felt like no time. Down there lay the fight of my life.

I was ready.

* * *

**Themyiscera**

Ares chuckled darkly as he approached the last bit of resistance. A few hundred warriors, gathered bravely around the temple entrance to the Gates. Shields in, spears out. Those Leaguers who hadn't been injured stood at the ready as well. He could see the fear in the eyes, taste the rancid dread as they realized what exactly they were up against. How little chance they had.

He came to a stop. "Where is Hippolyta?" He didn't see her face among the gathered.

"The queen is safe," came Philippus' reply.

Ares just smiled. "Are you going to move out of my way?"

Philippus spat on the ground.

"Very well then." Ares gestured to the rocky ground, the air buzzing with charged energy as something began to take shape. The key, smooth and streamlined and far more ominous than any mere object should have been. It hovered just above the ground before settling in. "Do you know what this is?"

"Of course."

He spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture. "Well, then you also know what I'm going to do with it, just as soon as I kill every last one of you. Except Hippolyta of course. Hades wants her to himself, which means your deaths will merciful, if not loving by comparison. You won't have to be here as the world burns."

His last words were drowned out by a sharp roar from above. A plane? They were rather uncommon on Themyiscera. He couldn't-

A boom shook the ground sending rippling cracks across the ground. It was like an earthquake, and the epicenter was now a cloud of gently descending dust.

Ares and the Amazons alike stared at the figure slowly coming into focus. A person, a woman. She was rising to her full height, the metallic parts of her armor already beginning to reflect light.

Ares frowned, peering closer. "Artemis?

"Not quite," came Diana's voice. It sounded different, like it was layered with a much deeper resonance. It was almost like the speech of a goddess. And her appearance! As she hovered into view, it was as if everyone let out a collective gasp. She was wearing her original Wonder Woman armor, but that wasn't it. Her entire body seemed to pulse with pent-up energy. Her eyes were luminescent, even in the evening sun. There were sparks dancing between her fingertips and her hair seemed to float around her, even when she landed.

Ares' brow furrowed. "This is impossible!" he sputtered.

Diana cocked her head to the side. _No talking_, she thought. _More punching._

_

* * *

_

**Diana**

I hit him in the jaw first, the impact so hard it send shockwaves of dust and soil as far as the eye could see. A few thousands of a second later, I headbutted him full in the nose, then rammed a knee into his stomach.

"AAARGH," he screamed in pain and rage, batting me with a vicious backhand harder than I'd ever dreamed of being hit in my entire life. Still I wasn't completely unprepared, rolling with the blow and delivering a flurry of punches into his face and gut that kept him off guard.

This wasn't like fighting a normal human. Pressure points and joint locks and all that were virtually useless against gods. It was a pure match of power. Ares' versus the energy that Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite were pouring into me. It required far less finesse, which was fine with me. _Sometimes, a girl just wants to let loose._

Ares spat a vile curse and tackled me, immediately taking to the sky. Up we flew, so fast that by the time I had regained my bearings, we were far above the clouds. He was trying to literally squeeze the life out of me, and it was working. Underneath all that borrowed strength was a mortal form, which had its limits.

I rammed a knee into his groin, feeling something satisfying give. He responded by grabbing my hair and using it yank my face into the point of his sword, which he'd somehow managed to draw. Instinctively, my arms crossed into an X shape as the blade deflected off of my perpendicular bracelets, and skewed off at an angle just missing my left eye. Still, it left a furrow on my cheekbone, and the metal against metal sent a shower of sparks raining down on my face.

And still, we were ascending. It was getting harder to breathe, so high in the atmosphere. I could barely even make out the individual clouds from that high, higher than I'd ever been without protective gear. And it was intensely cold. Ares didn't seem to mind, and his grip on me still hadn't been shaken. He didn't need to say what he was planning- boy now it was pretty obvious. Champion of the Gods or not, I couldn't survive for long without Earth's atmosphere. Soon I would suffocate or freeze or both.

The former was starting to happen, as intense pain began to spread through my entire body. Heat loss. I struggled to hit Ares again, but he dodged and managed to wriggle behind me, trapping my arm and getting me in a basic but deadly headlock.

And higher we went. I could feel the ice crystals forming on my skin, around my mouth and nose as my very breath was flash-frozen. My entire universe was cold and unforgiving night. There was no sound, no more air to conduct it. What little remained in my lungs seemed to burn cruelly through me. Soon I would have to inhale, and when I did it would be the dry vacuum of space.

I could see the curvature of the earth, more beautiful than I could have imagined. Fitting, for the last view I would ever have.

* * *

**Gotham**

Agent Keith Griggs watched the ambulance take Bruce Wayne away with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. There was more to Bruce Wayne than met the eye, that was for sure. And the failure at locating a conclusive link to Batman galled him to no end. Still, Keith didn't take it personally. A worthy opponent was the best tool for sharpening an agent's skills, and he had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time he and the illustrious Mr. Wayne crossed paths.

A taxicab rounded the corner at a breakneck pace, screeching to a halt right outside the manor. Keith stared, openmouthed, as a gorgeous blond woman practically leapt out.

He keyed his wrist mic. "Alright, when I said seal a perimeter that included taxis, people." He shut off the earpiece before the obligatory, half-assed apologies could start pouring in and gestured to the woman. She looked like she'd stepped off of a runway and into a monsoon. And back out again with her beauty miraculously intact. And she also looked familiar, maybe from his Bruce Wayne files. . .

"Excuse me, ma'am," he called, politely but with the edge of authority in his voice. "Are you aware that you're in a restricted area?"

Hallie's gaze swung to meet his, her breath catching for a brief moment as she took in his strikingly handsome features. The man wore a black suit, a pair of sunglasses hanging on the collar of his shirt and an unobtrusive earpiece in his left ear. Whatever agency he represented, he was clearly in charge given the deference amongst the other men on the scene and the way he carried himself. She straightened her posture as best she could, her chin going up in defiance. "Restricted area? This is the residence of my employer, Bruce Wayne. I need to see him as soon as possible."

"Right. . .and you are?"

"Hallie Greene, WayneTech Project Manager. And you?"

He extended a hand, which she hesitantly took. "Special Agent Keith Griggs, Homeland Security. I'm sorry to have to inform you, Hallie, but Bruce Wayne is currently en route to Gotham General. He suffered injuries related to a metahuman incident that we are still investigating."

Hallie's hand went to her mouth involuntary. "How. . .how bad is he hurt?"

"Nothing life-threatening. He'll be out soon," Keith assured her. Part of him wondered what exactly the deal was with Bruce and Hallie, it seemed odd that a simple employee should even have thought to come to the manor. If the relationship was indeed more than professional, then he had to give the billionaire credit. Hallie Greene was simply stunning.

She looked up at him, still absorbing the news. "And what about Diana?"

Keith arched an eyebrow. "Diana. . ."

"Prince. Diana Prince, is she alright?"

Keith was already shaking his head. "You must be mistaken. The only two occupants were Bruce Wayne and his butler. There's no-" he froze, one more piece of the puzzle clicking into place. _That sonic boom, it had to have been her._

"What, what is it?" asked Hallie persistently.

"Umm." He flashed his best smile, for her benefit. "I can't comment on that for certain, but I'd wager she's just fine."

* * *

**Diana**

No more air. Not up here anyway. I knew it and Ares knew it. And he was doing his best to squeeze what little I had left from my lungs. Durable as this supercharged body was, it had reached its limits minutes ago.

My arms could find no purchase, and his were threatening to crack my ribs. It was like a perverse hug, except there wasn't the slightest bit of affection, only murderous glee. He could sense that he was winning. That he would kill me.

Then it occurred to me. The sword. He'd sheathed it again, opting to finish me off with his bare hands. I could see the tip of the handle, sheathed across his back. It looked far out of reach, but it was my last chance and damned if I was going to waste it. I reached out for all I was worth, praying that Ares wouldn't noticed what I was doing.

He didn't. I could practically see his pleased smile, thinking that I'd given up.

_Not hardly, you despicable-_There! Somehow, I'd managed to grasp the handle of his sword. I was breathing empty space now. Only seconds left before I passed out.

In one move I yanked the blade out of the scabbard, reversed my grip, and thrust into the back of Ares neck as hard as I could. Then I jerked it to the side in a scything arc.

His head separated from the rest of his body, shock and agony frozen forever on his face before it hurled off into oblivion. I kicked the headless body away in disgust, the sword slipping from my fingers.

_You did it_, I thought as I had the sensation of falling. Earth pulling me back to her bosom. Could that have really happened? Could I have killed Ares once and for all?

My eyes closed. Somehow, hurtling toward the earth was as serene an experience as I could conceive. Despite the fact that my power was exhausted. Despite the fact that I knew I was going to die.

I was falling. I was floating. I could see Athena. Hera. Aphrodite. I was their champion. _And I'd won. _

No sacrifice was too great for that.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

_Okay, so I know I said I would be able to get this story finished up in one more chapter. . ._

_Mmm, not so much, since 16,000 word chapters don't hold much appeal for me. Don't worry, by the way, things don't end there. Count on a final epilogue soon to finish things up and tie up loose ends in a neat little bow. I hope you readers will bear with this fic to see the final curtain._

_Until then, tell me what you think! I'd def love to hear feedback, comments, criticisms, all of it._

_Hasta luego!_

_-C_


	15. Chapter 15

**Diana**

"This is delicious," I murmured, finishing a sip of the honey-gold liquid offered to me by Aphrodite.

"Ambrosia," she beamed. "Humans lost the ability to cultivate this long ago. A shame, wouldn't you agree?"

I couldn't speak, on account of my second gulp. With a delighted sigh I set the goblet down. Athena and Hera hadn't shown up. . .

_Here._ I looked down at my hands. No calluses from hard boxing training. I ran a finger down the length of my shin. No bruises. No tenderness from the Muay Thai sessions with Bruce. My face was unblemished where there should be healing welts.

When I glanced back up at Aphrodite, she was looking at me. Her eyes, I'd found, were impossible to read. Inhuman.

"May I ask a question?" I began.

She smiled. "You just did."

"Right. Um, am I dead?"

"No. Wherever it is you mortals go to die, I can assure you it is not Olympus."

I pressed on. "Why am I here?"

"Because," she said simply, "You are not dead. You are dying. Mid-freefall, I believe, somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea. In a sense, I brought you here to save your life."

I closed my eyes, letting the memories explain what Aphrodite was trying to. I saw Ares, headless in some lifeless part of the atmosphere. I remembered by overwhelming relief, mixed with disbelief. And the sensation of all my strength draining. Gone. The experience was far more frightening in recollection than it had seemed at the time. My eyes opened with a gasp.

Aphrodite favored me with an enigmatic smile. "Our kind is no longer to overtly interfere in human affairs. Even Ares abided by those rules, until recently of course. It upset a very delicate balance, one that we intend to hold him fully accountable for.

"But Ares is dead," I blurted out without thinking.

Her laughter was like a song of its own, though her mouth never opened once. "Mankind has been unable to end war for the entirety of its existence. Rest assured, you were not the first to do so. Ares cannot die any more than I can. You, however. . ." she trailed off, a hint of concern breezing over her serene features. "I am doing the best I can."

* * *

**Themyiscera**

Ares and Diana's skyward departure was followed by about 30 seconds of stunned silence. Then, snapped out of her reverie, Shayera dived forward into an airborne sprint.

Ares had left the key. She couldn't believe it, but she wasn't going to let an opportunity like that pass. She flew toward the key

"Shayera!" shouted Philippus, "be careful!"

But the Thanagarian had already brought her mace down upon the enchanted object that had nearly brought about an apocalypse. Nth metal against a vessel of pure magic. It was no contest. The reaction was as immediate as it was explosive, the surge of negative feedback reaching an instantaneous critical mass. Lightning blue sparks brighter than fireworks leapt out, and glowing spiderweb cracks opened up on the smooth alloyed exterior.

Then it exploded, hurling Shayera and her mace away with a massive shockwave She lost consciousness, briefly, and when she awoke she was inside the city limits, surrounded by Philippus and some of the other Leaguers.

"Huh," she said, replaying the incident in her head. Maybe taking her mace to the key hadn't been the brightest idea.

Confusion was etched across Philippus' face. "Shayera, how do you feel?"

"Fine. Massive headache though," she winced as she maneuvered into a sitting position on the makeshift bed. "Did Ares come back?"

The general shook her head. "Neither he nor Diana have returned. According to the Justice League, their instruments show Diana and Ares entering the stratosphere hours ago. Then nothing. We have no idea what happened."

"Weird," Shayera mumbled to herself. She glanced sharply back up. "What about John?"

This time it was Green Arrow who answered. "One of Hippolyta's scouts found him about an hour ago. He was retrieved by one of our ships and beamed back to the Watchtower." He gave her a comforting smile. "He's got a few months of physical therapy ahead of him but he should be just fine. That ring of his protected him til the end."

Shayera found herself choked up, overcome with joy, relief, and maybe something else entirely. If her heart kept flipping over like that she was going to burst out in tears. It was just. . .

She forcibly calmed herself with a few deep breaths and then looked back to Green Arrow. "When, um. . .when can I see him?"

Arrow and Black Canary exchanged a knowing look. Even Philippus looked dangerously close to a smile."Interesting," she said. "He asked the same about you."

Shayera wanted to get up right there and fly all the way up to the Watchtower by herself. Instead, she laid her head back against the pillow, unable to contain the smile on her face. A wave of exhaustion hit like a gentle tide, and before she knew it she was dreaming of a certain tall, broad-shouldered Green Lantern and the time when she would be able to see him again.

* * *

**Gotham**

**One week later**

Keith's Gotham office had never felt so small.

It was sinfully large, considering its location in the city's downtown. Spacious, elegant, yet practical. And for the past week, he'd been dying to get out of it.

The aftermath of his failure to catch Batman had been anticlimactic. Incomplete missions were not looked on favorably by the Agency, but he'd handed them a hell of a consolation prize. Artemis' corpse made front page news across the world and the United States government considered the pacification of a rogue metahuman to be extremely commendable. Two, counting Prizm, though Griggs had personally chewed Levin out for authorizing that assassination. He'd protested against accepting the credit for any of it, but sometimes the media sharks needed a hero to throw on magazine covers and talk shows for a while. He was the sacrificial lamb. Hell, if anything, he'd be getting an even _bigger _office that he hated to be stuck in.

One week later, and it seemed as if the tremendous events of the recent past had been swept away under the massive rug of 'National Security'. Now it was back to boring evildoers of the non-powered variety.

The office intercom beeped on, interrupting his thoughts. Curious, he pushed off from the corner of the office, the wheeled chair carrying him all the way to his desk. He keyed on the speaker. "Griggs here."

"Sir," came Agent Levin's voice. "There's a woman here to see you. A Ms. Hallie Greene, on behalf of Bruce Wayne and Wayne Industries."

At this, Keith perked up a bit. He gave his office a quick once-over, unimpressed with all the accumulated clutter. He didn't get many visitors at work, especially attractive female ones.

He ran a hand over his hair, curious as to what had brought her here. "Of course," he replied. "Send her up."

* * *

**Watchtower Orbital Station**

That it had taken almost an entire week just to get some alone time with John had tried the limits of Shayera's patience. A large part of his recovery had required the use of the Watchtower's hyperbaric chamber, no visitors allowed.

So here she was, in the outside hallway that served as a makeshift waiting room. It was a cramped corridor, the kind in which she couldn't even stretch her wings without running abruptly against cold steel. John's therapy session was nearing its end, and the medics had cleared her to enter as soon as it was over.

The tap on her shoulder disturbed her reverie. Turning around, she saw a tall, lithe dark-skinned woman with close cropped hair and exotic features. Mari, aka Vixen.

John's girlfriend.

"Hey Shayera" Mari began, leaning against the opposite wall. "Here to see John?"

Shayera nodded, feeling her face heat slightly. "You?"

"Nah." Mari's gaze dropped to her nails. "I saw him yesterday."

"Oh?" Shayera's voice cracked unintentionally- she'd never been good at hiding her feelings.

Mari gave a thin-lipped smile. "Okay, I'm not sure how to say this so I'll just get it out. Thankfully I'm done crying, 'cause I'd hate for my makeup to start running again." She looked up suddenly, no longer smiling. "You took him from me."

Shayera was speechless "Excuse me?"

Mari went on, undeterred. "That sounded petty. I apologize, it's just. . ." she cleared her throat. "When I saw John, he told me that we were over. No warning signs, no nothing. Just, I don't get to spend time with him in over a month, and the first thing of any substance he discusses is the fact that he's dumping me. Now John, horrible liar that we both know he is, was also kind enough to be truthful with me about the cause of this abrupt breakup. Specifically, you."

Shayera took an involuntary step back. She'd seen Mari rip apart semi trucks with her bare hands before, and the other woman's tone wasn't the least bit comforting.

Mari let out a defeated sigh. "I don't understand it Shayera, I was the best lover and partner that I knew how to be. But he's in love with you. Not me." On the last bit, she ran a quick hand across her eye. "You two must've had some adventure, huh."

"Mari, I- I don't know what to say."

"Yeah, well I guess that's John's problem now." She gestured to the opening door. "He's a good man, Shayera. Break his heart again and I'll do to you what I did to that truck last-"

"I remember," Shayera said quickly, cutting her off. "And I really am sorry, Mari."

Mari managed a smile. "Well, go on you. . .hawk lady you. He's waiting." With that, she turned and strode back down the hallway, the click of her heels filling the otherwise soundless void.

Shayera folded her wings so she could slip through the awkwardly short door. Inside, John was resting comfortably in the infirmary bed, a pen and notepad on the sheets next to him. His journal, perhaps. With the backdrop of limitless space beyond the large windows, it reminded Shayera immensely of their first kiss, when she'd come to visit him after he saved her life and nearly died in the process. Maybe things had come full circle.

"Hey," she said.

John cracked a smile and folded the notepad closed. "Hey," he said.

* * *

**Gotham**

It was only their second time meeting each other, but Hallie felt an instant familiarity when she entered Keith's office. It was roomy and comfortable and looked lived-in, as opposed to the cookie-cutter cubicles she was used to seeing. It also had a personal element. Sweeping pictures of matadors and Spanish dancers adorned his walls, and there were similarly-themed figurines on a few of the shelves. It took an extra few seconds for her to register them all.

Keith smiled at her appraisal, and then gestured for her to take a seat. "Ms. Greene," he said. "It's nice to see you again."

"Oh, just Hallie is fine. And it's nice to see you too." Hallie straightened up in her chair. "May I say, I really like your office. It's not quite what I'd expect for one of the head figures in a government agency."

"Thank you," acknowledged Keith. "If it was up to me, I'd be spending a lot more time out of the office and in the field. Long as I'm stuck behind a desk, I might as well make it my own."

Hallie flashed a conspiratorial smile. "Tell me about it. The price we pay for advancement."

Keith leaned back, his eyes taking in everything her words weren't saying. She was dressed in a white button-down blouse, the top three buttons undone just enough to show a hint of cleavage. Her black skirt was distractingly short in what was also a calculated move. No way she dressed like that every day- the male population at WayneTech would never get anything done.

He was a bit flattered. And the subtle seductive approach was even working, to a degree. But clearly she was using it for business reasons, so that would have to be how handled this for the moment.

He chuckled. "Indeed. However, something tells me that you didn't come here just to commiserate with a fellow victim of white collar syndrome. How can I help you Ms. Greene?"

If she was off-put by his directness, she didn't show it. Her smile only grew brighter. "Just Hallie," she corrected mildly, "and you're right. The reason I'm here is to make sure that Wayne Industries will no longer bear undue. . .oversight from certain government agencies. One agent, for instance, is on record making threats against Wayne Industries personnel regarding the Prizm fiasco."

Keith winced inwardly. That name still gave him migraines. Almost as many as the name she was about to mention.

"A certain Agent Levin, I believe."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me. Levin is about as unorthodox in his methods as they come. Your threat though, artfully veiled as it was, does not work here. National security trumps all. Everything else is hearsay and speculation, at best."

Hallie's smile faltered a bit. "Well, 'national security' never stopped the more. . .voracious media types. And we've been leaking information for a long, long time. What would your agency do with all that scrutiny Keith?"

He smiled. "I have a better question. What would Wayne Industries do if word was 'leaked' that its golden boy moonlights as an extralegal, nocturnal vigilante?"

"It probably wouldn't even be the most outlandish rumor released about him that week." She leaned in propping an elbow on the desk. "Whatever your agency suspects about Bruce Wayne, I see no gain for you in pursuing it. Even if you did manage to prove that he is. . .whoever you think he is, the costs would far outweigh the benefits. We're talking more strain on an already-weakened economy, and more importantly the removal of a man that has done more for homeland security than your agency ever has."

Keith's eyebrow went up. "So you want me to drop the entire line of investigation on Bruce Wayne, despite the fact that thousands of man-hours have gone into the intelligence work that provided us that information in the first place? Despite the fact that personally, breaking that bit of information would virtually guarantee me a cabinet position, bare minimum?"

Hallie shrugged. "Just a bigger desk to stay trapped behind."

He leaned back, steepling his fingers. Hallie could tell he was about to reject the proposal, which was rather disappointing. She'd come prepared with other countermeasures of course, but those tended stretch both her ethical and legal obligations. In the end, protecting Bruce's secret was of paramount importance of course, but Keith seemed nice. The last guy she wanted to end up playing hardball-

"Deal," said Keith simply.

She sighed. "I was afraid you might say that. So I've prepared-". She froze. "Wait, did you say 'deal'?"

"Yep. Look, as far as I'm concerned, if our suspicions about Wayne are right, then he's a damn hero. The last thing I want to do is offer the guy on a sacrificial platter to my superiors. We'll keep the data we have of course, but no revelations will be made, and no action will be taken against him or the corporation."

"Wow," was all Hallie could think to say. "Um, thank you, thank you so much." She reached across the table to shake his hand, and he took it warmly. "I um, guess that concludes our business here."

"Almost," said Keith.

"Oh?"

His smile was unorthodox, a bit lopsided in that it made one dimple deeper than the other. It also made Hallie's heart do a funny leaping thing in her chest. She blushed despite herself, further words completely failing her.

If Keith noticed any of this, he was polite enough not to indicate as much. "Not Homeland Security to Wayne Industries," he said. " Keith to Hallie. Simple question, would you like to get dinner sometime?"

"You-you mean like a date?"

"Like a date," he confirmed, his eyes on hers.

Hallie didn't know what to make of this. She was not unaccustomed to being asked out, but there was something in his open expression and honest tone that made the question less unsettling than it otherwise would have been. Still, she'd only met the man twice. Regaining her composure, she cocked her head inquisitively. "Why me?" she asked.

"Because you fascinate me," he said simply. "I don't meet many women who can take charge of a situation like you. Seeing you in action back at Wayne's manor, and even the way you charged in here to settle things between your company and my department. . .to be honest I never would have forgiven myself if I hadn't at least tried to ask you out."

She found his openness so charming it left her mouth dry. "I'm flattered. I don't know what to say."

He held up a hand, where a business card appeared between his fingers like a magic trick. He held it out to her. "Tell you what, here's my card. Anything you need, just call. Same goes for dinner, if you're so inclined."

Hallie took the card, a simple white rectangle with his name and contact information in embossed blue lettering. It felt smooth under her fingertips.

When she raised her head again, he was standing, hand outstretched. Clearly, the meeting had come to a close.

"Either way," said Keith, "it was a pleasure seeing you again. Homeland Security and Wayne Enterprises may not see eye to eye, but do know that you will always have an ally in this department.

Hallie shook his hand, a much warmer handshake than their introductory greeting. Without the table between them, she probably would have hugged him. "That means a lot, Keith," she replied sincerely. "I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

That smile again, and then a wave as he settled down and turned to what she was sure were a host of other issues on his plate. She slipped discreetly from the room and closed the door behind her the business card still in her hand.

_Keith Griggs_. She honestly hadn't seen the dinner invitation coming- they barely knew each other. But she liked what she did know, and was intrigued enough about the rest to want to find out more.

It wasn't quite as nice outside as when Hallie had entered the building, but she found herself smiling anyway. A promotion, an official commendation from Wayne Industries. . .and a date to top it all off.

As far as she was concerned, it was a brand new day.

* * *

**Diana**

"I don't suppose I could stay here forever," I mused taking my umpteenth sip of ambrosia. Across from me in this unearthly place sat Aphrodite, her serene expression belying the fact that, according to her, she was doing everything in her power to save my life.

The drink seemed to be having a soporific effect- I realized with a start that I had no idea how much time had passed. Or if the concept itself even applied in a plane of existence such as this. _Gods_, Olympus. . .I had so many questions. It was an opportunity, an experience that I'd never dreamed of having. And the longer I stayed, the more my life back on earth seemed to blur away.

Everything except for Bruce.

I set the goblet down. "Aphrodite-"

"Bruce is alive and recovering well," said Aphrodite, somehow looking at me and not looking at me at the same time. I noticed because when her focus did come back to me it made me want to start building temples in her honor. She smiled, as if dazzling mortals with her divine aura was nothing new to her. Then the smile turned sad."You've passed away though, my child. I am sorry."

Her presence didn't seem so warm anymore. I felt an icy knot forming in my gut. "I _died_?"

"By the time you hit the water's surface, all of the power granted to you had been depleted. I tried my best intervene this one last time, but even we have our limits." She stood, walked over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "However, this is not the end. Your physical form can be recreated, and you deserve no less. Still. . ." her voice dropped to scarcely above a whisper. "You have a choice to make, Diana of Themyiscera."

* * *

**Themyiscera**

"I would like to thank you all for coming," Hippolyta began graciously. This day was history in the making, the first time that males from the outside world had ever been allowed into the secret chambers of her palace. Even her Loyalists had chafed at this. Philippus, in a rare moment of humor, had joked that the other generals looked mad enough to start another civil war over the matter.

Still, without the Justice League- male members included- those same Amazons would be dead or enslaved. That kind of perspective seemed to work so far in cooling their otherwise-righteous indignation.

Shayera, the Thanagarian, was present, cozily accompanied by the fully-recuperating Green Lantern. Both enjoyed seats of honor to Hippolyta's right in the large assembly hall, considered nothing less than heroes. The other League members who had participated in the defense of Themyiscera were seated in the front with the Loyalist generals, while a tense, yet civil crowd of Loyalist troops and (former) Separatist officers occupied the remaining seats. They were divided, as if by an invisible wall. Understandable, considering that many of the Loyalists had fiercely advocated for the immediate execution of those traitors who hadn't already taken their own lives. The Separatists, though present by invitation, faced the real possibility that they were attending their own death sentence.

"I wonder where Batman is," murmured Shayera to John. "The 'Slayer of Artemis', he gets talked about around here more than we do, and half these women have never even seen him."

John chuckled, a low, baritone rumble that vibrated from within his solid frame. "Batman signing autographs for his adoring Amazon fans. . .yeah, I can just picture it."

Shayera rested her head on his shoulder, smiling at the nearly inaudible wince he gave. "Oh, shut up you big baby, I thought you jarheads were the tough ones."

John nudged her back affectionately. "Semper Fi, babe."

There was no response, as Hippolyta had continued speaking. "I would, first, like to acknowledge the heroes of the Justice League, whose presence and number here in an official assembly is unprecedented and hopefully a portent of things to come. As you all know, this entire island owes the Justice League not one, but two times over. Simply put, without the help of this organization, Themyiscera as we know it would not exist."

She cleared her throat. "We are a people, a sisterhood steeped in tradition. A way of life that has protected and insulated us from the influence of Man's World for untold centuries. Indeed, while Man's World has waged its holy wars, its inquisitions, and its genocides, we were fortunate enough to lead a relatively peaceful existence." She gave a sad smile. "It was our arrogance that caused us to forget our own mortality. Not of the body perhaps, but of the soul. That we could have the same vices, the same faults and failings as those outside of our borders did not occur to us until it was too late.

I say 'we', because I do not exempt myself from this account. Indeed, as your queen I presided over what I hope will be a bygone era. Our culture flourished, to be sure. But it was also a xenophobic, misandristic, and ultimately self-destructive regime. The causes of this most recent civil war are myriad and will be debated in the annals of our history for centuries to come. But I believe that it was extreme aversion to the outside world that allowed truly malevolent influences, like Ares, to wreak the havoc that we've all witnessed recently. To invade our midst and come between us, sowing divisiveness, turning sister against sister-" Her voice broke on the last few syllables, an uncharacteristic gaffe from the stately monarch. The raw emotion served her well- even the Separatists in attendance felt a small chill as the truth of these words settled in.

"Reform is coming to this nation," said the queen. "It will not be immediate, and it will not be easy, but it will come. And I want all of you, my sisters. All of those you represent, to be a part of this."

Shayera's eyes narrowed. Hippolyta couldn't be serious, if she was going where it seemed she was-

"By royal decree," Hippolyta announced, " all Separatists who will swear an oath of allegiance to this nation and vow to lay down arms shall be pardoned and allowed-"

"Preposterous!" thundered one of the Loyalist generals, rising to her feet. The chamber immediately burst into frantic murmuring. "My liege, this is madness!"

"And _allowed_," Hippolyta pressed on firmly, her voice rising above the din, "to return to peaceful Amazon society." Her gaze seemed to focus on each one of them. "No more bloodshed. No more death. Our _tabula rasa_ begins today."

For once, Shayera wished she didn't have wings. They made turning around far too awkward and she was dying to see the Separatists' reactions. Stunned silence, most likely. While Shayera had hoped that Hippolyta would forego mass executions, she'd at least thought the queen would exile the insurgent Amazons. It seemed no one had been expecting this turn of events.

"Furthermore," stated Hippolyta, "with the deaths of both Artemis and my daughter, we are left in the untenable position of having no ambassador to represent us and our interests in Man's World. It is my duty, as reigning queen, to anoint a successor. I have chosen, and I believe I have chosen well."

This effectively shut everyone up.

Hippolyta's sharp blue eyes narrowed in on the front row. Yet they betrayed nothing, not until she spoke. "High General Philippus, the gods smile on you today. . ."

* * *

**Bruce**

**_Two months later_.**

"She wears the uniform well," observed Alfred from the counter.

He and I were cleaning up the kitchen after a morning's worth of fresh lasagna and garden salad. Difficult dishes to make nearly from scratch, but the domestic simplicity of it appealed to me, and Alfred was a practical virtuoso. When we took the dishes to the Wayne Foundation's local rescue shelter, I had no doubt that for many of its indigent residents, it would be the best meal they'd ever had.

Alfred certainly wasn't talking about service to the community though. Not ours anyway. On the TV screen was something else altogether: The new Wonder Woman, Philippus, shaking hands with the newly-elected president of Nubanje, a small but politically-unstable Central African nation. For years, its military despot had topped human rights abuse lists. He'd been 'elected', seven terms in a row, with outspoken critics of his regime disappearing in the night. Some fed, alive, into the general's private aquarium housing dozens of crocodiles. Others, used for experiments in human suffering that likened comparison to the Husseins and Pol Pots of history. A sovereign nation, with a bloodthirsty dictator at its helm. He'd been untouchable.

Except for Philippus. Her first act as the new Wonder Woman had been the simple and direct approach, something I liked about her before even meeting her. She'd landed in country, walked up to the front door of the palace, and kicked it right off its hinges. The bodyguards foolish enough to try and stop her received severe injuries for their troubles, and the rest scuttled to the general's own quarters to escape the raging Amazon.

That hadn't been her destination though, not yet. Rather, in a move reminiscent of Artemis' attack on the Batcave, she'd pummeled through the entire ground floor, exposing the secret prisons beneath. The torture chambers, the filthy, cramped cells, the laboratories. She rendered every single soldier and guard unconscious. Then she flew right back up, smashed into the general's quarters, and after doing the same to the soldier's guards made him a singular offer. Invite U.N. elections supervisors to Nubanje to facilitate a fair election. Then resign and leave, forever. The alternative: she would feed him to his own crocodiles.

That had been over a month ago, and now Nubanje had had its first free election. The ammunition stockpiles were gone, Philippus had tossed them into the ocean. The massive hoards of weapons themselves were melted down, and recycled into everything from power tools to bicycles.

No one in the international community, including the Justice League, had been too happy with Philippus practically invading a sovereign nation and imposing democracy. But Philippus was shrewder than most gave her credit for. The Nubanje debacle had merely been a show of will. Immediately after, she'd officially joined the United Nations. No more singlehandedly deposing dictators. Most of her work now was truly ambassadorial, negotiating trade and economic alliances between Themyiscera and other nations.

"Master Bruce, did you hear what I said?" asked Alfred, peering at me from across the kitchen.

"What? Oh, yes, well I agree. Philippus does wear the uniform well. I'd say Diana has a worthy successor." It hurt to say Diana's name. By now, she was officially assumed dead, and the emotional void she'd left in her wake was almost too much to bear at times. I'd stopped attending social functions, stopped even pretending to be the carefree playboy. Tabloid speculation ran from drugs to an inoperable tumor, but the truth was far simpler than that. I'd lost the woman I loved.

"Her death hit us all, very hard," said Alfred, more quietly. "Still, I urge you to reconsider-"

"My resignation from the League," I finished for him.

He gave me a knowing look. "We both know that you're as an invaluable a part of the League as anyone, Master Bruce. Your grief, however immense, does not change that. And you cannot let it change who you are."

He was right, of course. My one-sentence resignation had made Diana's own look like veritable sermon. It had been the same format, a video file of Batman saying "In light of recent circumstances, I withdraw, indefinitely, my membership in the Justice League."

In the end, no matter how strong a façade I maintained, I wasn't emotionless. The grief, the anger, the helplessness. . .it clawed at me, inside like a living thing. Everyone has strategies, mechanisms to cope.

Mine was withdrawal. Illogical? Perhaps, but little else was making sense anyway. I found myself not caring as much.

"Sponge," said Alfred, clearly giving up for the time being. I tossed it to him and he caught it one-handed. We finished the rest of the cleaning in silence and took out the lasagna. These conversations would come up again, but in the meantime I was content to just. . .forget.

* * *

**Diana**

Don't misunderstand, I love rain.

But this wasn't just rain. It was a deluge, a pouring, soaking, splashing shower from the heavens. It had come without warning and flash-soaked the whole city. My suit was waterproof, but even with the visor down I could barely see. Everything was a hazy shimmering mist, punctuated by whiter sprays of light that marked rain bouncing off a solid object. Shame the local power was out- some ambient light would have been nice right around now.

There were five of them, one of me. Kasnians. They were on the supply end of a major drug deal by the Gotham River docks, ready to pocket some hefty cash when I stepped in.

Then, just as I was rearing to kick ass, the rain started. Small drops for about ten seconds, and then it was like standing under a showerhead. The buyers had fled, small-time local dealers whom I could pick up anytime. A dime a dozen-what I'd really been after was the Kasnian suppliers.

They were nicely dressed and no doubt soaked. But while the rain had temporarily surprised them, they weren't about to let me off the hook. Five hands reached inside five jackets, ready to bring out the Krauss German-made machine pistols that were this syndicate's specialty. Prodigal armor or not, catching multiple bursts of .44 caliber fire would not make for a good night.

Four hands made it back out of the jackets. The fifth guy was writhing on the ground, one of my _shiruken_ already embedded in his hand. Then the gunfire started and I crouched as low as I could, taking careful note of the muzzle flashes. By now, Bruce would have started on the second one, dispatching him with a quickfire punch, then perhaps a flashbang grenade to incapacitate the rest.

I was finding that it took less and less to bring him to mind recently. Maybe I could visit my old life, just once, just to-

_Blam!_ The bullet wasn't well-aimed but luck had nearly let it give me a third eye. I growled, a bit pissed, and powered up my gauntlet's electrical output. Then, I jammed my hand flat against the water-soaked ground. There must have been two inches at least. Perfect.

Lightning vaulted across the pavement, conducted by the sluicing rainwater. Four startled cries of pain, and the smell of burnt ozone. I rose to my feet and smiled with some satisfaction as the Kasnian gangsters dropped like flies.

I considered leaving them there for the police to find. An attractive option, but I didn't exactly have a rosy relationship with Gateway City's police chief. Had never even met her. If the police found these creeps, they'd be held for a few hours until a slick attorney came to headquarters and reminded Chief Campbell that there was no evidence or witness testimony against his client. And that would be that.

I needed something else. A disincentive, a message for them to take back to their boss that would communicate: Gateway City is Off-Limits.

The splash of something landing on the accumulated layers of water was my only clue that someone else had joined the party. I whirled around already firing the gauntlet's built-in taser. The twin needles were dead on target, but the dark figure didn't even try to dodge. Rather, he caught the projectile in a lightning-fast display of reflex. The electrodes sparked in his fist, then died. His eyes, twin slights of light against his dark cowl, stared balefully at me.

I recognized two things, embarrassingly late. One: Even though we weren't in Gotham, Batman was here. _Bruce_ was here.

Two. . .

* * *

**Bruce**

I didn't recognize her.

But I recognized the outfit. And the taser.

I dropped the needles, focusing in on the imposter. A million questions ran through my mind. Who was she, for starters? And how the hell had she gotten hold of Diana's suit?

I'd heard reports of a masked vigilante operating in Gateway City and come to check it out. In a weird way, I almost felt it was my duty in Diana's absence. Not to mention the proximity to Gotham city. Some wide-eyed kid running around trying to take down hardened criminals was a tragedy waiting to happen, and I'd already decided to nip it in the bud before it escalated further. That the perpetrator was a woman _wearing the Prodigal_ _suit_ had just shot her to the top of my priorities lit. The _gall._

One way or another I would have some answers.

She looked at me. Took a step back. Looked up at the nearby apartment's fire escape, then back at me. Her visor hid most of her features, but I could still tell what she was thinking.

"Don't-" I started to say.

And predictably, she did. Gracefully as a cat, she executed a sideways leap onto the hanging ladder, and began to climb. I ran forward, almost missing the small, pellet-shaped object she hurled back at the ground. I instinctively turned my head away and raised my cape, just as the blinding flash was unleashed. It was like being at the epicenter of a lightning strike.

I looked back up at the side of the building. Amazingly, she was almost on the roof by now. From there, it would be easy to lose her if I didn't do something now.

I aimed the grappling hook and fired, the clawed, magnetic head securing itself firmly to the roof. The press of another button and I was airborne, speeding up the side of the apartment so fast that I could feel every single raindrop collide with my armor. So fast that \when I released the grapple, the momentum carried me above the lip of the roof and into the air above.

The imposter was running toward another roof, one that I doubted she could reach even with all the agility she'd just displayed. She was fearless, leaping out into the abyss six stories in the air.

And then the Prodigal suit spouted wings.

* * *

**Diana**

_Shit, shit, shit!_

I'd always thought that one day I would tell Bruce all that had happened to me since Artemis. If anyone, he deserved to know. But not like this. He'd had a hard enough time with the idea of me crimefighting even when it would be under his watchful eye. Disapproval didn't even come close to his reaction if he found out about what I was up to on my own in Gateway City.

He shot up over the edge of the roof, clearly having opted to use a grappling hook rather than climb like me. Smart. I could see why he inspired so much fear among those he hunted. My own heart was threatening to pound out of my chest.

I ran as fast as I could toward the other edge of the roof, glad about a particular modification I'd had Hephaestus make to the armor. I'd never tried it before, so the real test would be whether I made the fifty-foot gap or plummeted to my death.

I jumped. Spread my arms and waited, the cold fist of gravity already pulling me down toward the unforgiving ground.

_Come on. . ._

My descent halted with the jarring whoosh of sudden air resistance. The wings that had just unfolded from the back of my armor were made with the feathers of Sirens, lightweight and unnaturally durable. Hephaestus had agreed to forge them for me, one of many reparations he'd been sentenced to for his complicity in the Ares debacle. Like everything he made, they worked perfectly.

I couldn't sustain flight, but even with the ferocious and unpredictable wind, I was able to glide to the next rooftop. The landing was so slicked that I slid a few meters before coming to a stop. Anxiously, I peered over my shoulder.

There he was, right behind me as a matter of fact. His cape was drawn around him, making him scarcely more than a silhouette except for when the lightning cast him in stark relief.

I could try for another rooftop, but he'd overtake me in no time. Ditto for the tasers and flashbangs. My options were limited.

_Screw it. _I lifted my chin up. "Bruce," I called.

He froze. That's _right, I know who you are. Think about it Bruce. . ._I pressed the visor's release clasp and took it off, bracing myself for the stinging rain against my unprotected face. The white slits of his eyes widened in shock, then narrowed even further in resolute denial.

"Not possible," he said. I could hardly blame his skepticism.

I kept walking toward him. "I don't know what to say Bruce. I wanted you to find out, but not like thi-" My brain screamed _Dodge_ an instant before I consciously recognized the leaping knee strike headed for my face. I threw myself backward into a controlled somersault, springing back up only to have to block a scything karate strike. I twirled and shoved him. It was like trying to tip an SUV on its side, especially without any leverage. However, equal and opposite reactions being what they were, the force sent me sliding back and out of strike range.

Bruce didn't look very impressed, and I realized that this was a test of sorts. If I was Diana, then I should fight like her. I should be able to hold my own.

Well, that was nice enough in theory, but I suspected I'd never fought Bruce when he was trying 100%. Deference to my gender maybe, or more likely he'd only fought at the level I was at, his way of getting me to improve my skills.

I narrowly avoided a snap kick whose trail was etched for a moment in the disrupted raindrops before disappearing. I could feel the sharp breeze from that kick, Bruce was playing for keeps.

_Fine. I've picked up a few tricks too. _I lunged at him, changing the trajectory of my punch at the last second to hit him in the solar plexus. It was a solid blow, and I heard his muffled oomph of pain. With my other hand, I chopped him viciously on the side of the neck. Another good hit, but this time I wasn't able to withdraw my hand fast enough. He caught my wrist and expertly twisted it away from the joint's natural angle. The torque wrenched me right off my feet and deposited me on the ground.

He looked down at me and shook his head. "Imposter."

_Imposter?_ I leapt back into a crouch and took away his balance with a flawless sweep kick. I grabbed for his other foot, but he leapt up and toward my undefended side.

Where he caught my next kick full in the face. I sacrificed a follow-up for the opportunity to get back on my feet. And there we were, facing each other, hands and legs tensed for quick punches, kicks and takedowns. Well I didn't care. If I had to kick his ass all the way back to Gotham to prove who I was then. . .

Bruce's hands dropped to his sides. He shook his head. "_Jesus_, it is you, isn't it?"

"Yes, Bruce." I dropped my own combat stance and stepped toward him, releasing the clasp on my visor so that he could see my features. "I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you. That I _didn't_ tell you. It's just-" I placed a hand on his well-muscled arm, as soothingly as possible.

He looked down at my hand, took my wrist and pulled it away from him. It was a cold gesture, but the emotion I could feel emanating off of Bruce was anything but. He was trembling.

* * *

**Bruce**

"You let us think you were dead," I said, a hollow accusation. _You let _me_ think you were dead._ I felt like all the air had punched from my lungs, the simultaneous intensities of betrayal, love, anger, and longing whirling around me.

"I was, technically," she protested, stepping closer. Without the visor to hold her hair back, it whipped free in the wind. Rain streamed down her face, maybe mixed with tears. But despite the pleading in her eyes, I couldn't bring myself to hear her out.

"What excuse could you possibly have?" I asked her. I attended your _funeral_. I mourned you, Diana. We all did. Every night I spent dreaming of you, only to wake up and find myself alone, abandoned."

"I didn't abandon you Bruce."

"Oh?" My anger was rising now. "Well what would you call it? Months gone by, and not a single word from you. Meanwhile, you're playing Batgirl back in Gateway City with the skills and equipment_ I_ gave you. You abandoned me and Alfred and everyone else who cared for you." I turned away abruptly. "Maybe you are Diana, but you're not the Diana I knew and you're damn sure not the Diana I loved."

"Bruce!" Her voice was raw. But I couldn't even turn back to face her.

"Stay out of Gotham, Prodigal." I said. Then, with a swift grapple line secured, I was gone into the stormy night.

* * *

**A/N:** To the final chapter. . .


	16. Chapter 16

Bruce

It was fortunate, perhaps, that I didn't run into any other incidents or crimes taking place- I certainly wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with anything bigger than a jaywalker.

So I took my time getting back, grappling, climbing, and jumping across the urban sprawl of Gateway City, almost on autopilot. Diana was back. It felt like it would never fully sink in. The world had moved on without her, Themyiscera pushing onward into peace and prosperity. And she was running around in modified Prodigal suit busting drug cartels? Ridiculous didn't even begin to describe it.

It took me the better part of four hours to get back to Gotham, most of them spent on foot. Rendezvousing with the Batmobile on the outskirts of the city, I drove the rest of the way back, chasing the rising sun that had begun to replace the night's rainfall. I still had no idea what to do about Diana. Would I try to find her again? Should I? She was clearly doing well enough without me, and had no problem letting me think she was dead. What did I even have to say to someone like that? It certainly wasn't the Diana I'd come to know.

It occurred to me as I pulled into the Batcave's underground entrance that Alfred might be a little worried. I'd told him I was just going to check on a small matter; he'd have expected me back hours ago and I'd been incommunicado.

I showered and changed into a simple t-shirt and light khakis. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I was immediately assaulted by the smell of. . .omelettes? Not one of Alfred's usual breakfast choices, but I wasn't about to call him on it. The smell was delicious and I was famished.

"What would I do without you?" I complimented him as I swung into the kitchen. "Just what I needed. You won't believe who I-"

Alfred was not alone.

In fact, he had a companion. Female. She was facing the stove, her back to me, but the build and body language were unmistakable. As for Alfred, he was seated at the kitchen table, enjoying the first round of a breakfast that he apparently hadn't cooked.

My warm feelings toward him were quickly beginning to evaporate. "Care to explain?" I managed between clenched teeth.

He was unfazed. "Not particularly. Though I think Diana would. Perhaps you might give her the chance this time."

Diana turned around, brows raised. "Omelette? I know my culinary skills aren't even up there with yours, but-"

"I'm not hungry," I cut her off. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay out of Gotham."

She set down the plate in her hand and took off the oven mitt. "So, no omelette then. Fine." She looked right into my eyes. We need to talk, Bruce. Maybe a rooftop in the pouring rain wasn't the right time-"

"Maybe two months after you let us believe you were _dead_ isn't the right time."

She blushed, her eyes fluttering briefly away. "Touché. But still, you have to at least hear me out, Bruce. Don't I deserve at least that much?"

My gaze swung back to Alfred, who was nonchalantly enjoying his breakfast despite what was going on mere feet away. Knowing him of course, he'd been listening intently to every word. I gave a polite cough to get his attention. "Do you . . .think we could get a few moments alone?"

"Certainly," he said. "However, might I suggest the deck? It really is lovely outside and a bit fresh air might do you both some good."

I considered pointing out that both Diana and I had had more than enough fresh air recently. Still, his suggestion wasn't without merit. With a curt, 'follow me' nod, I led Diana back through the dining room and past the screen door that led to the massive wooden deck at the rear of the mansion.

Alfred hadn't been lying. It really was beautiful out. The rain was long gone, leaving a uniquely spring freshness to the outdoor air. The sun had risen a bit more, but the dawn sky was still painted in oranges and violets. The pastured grass bounded by a forest line added a perfect touch to the view.

I looked back at Diana. Closely. She was dressed in a familiar outfit; one that I realized with a start was one from the guest rooms.

"Where's the Prodigal suit?" I asked.

"In my car. You would have seen parked in the driveway if you'd come to the manor through the front," she said. "I thought if I was going to ambush you into hearing me out, a change of attire was in order."

I almost smiled at that one. She looked good, in a white sleeveless blouse and blue jeans that hugged her figure in a subtly provocative way. The sun's highlights in her dark hair were hard not to look at, and the way the light breeze picked up light strands of it was almost mesmerizing. Memory hadn't done her justice.

"You look about the same," she ventured, resting forward against the deck's railing.

"You. . .cut your hair," I responded lamely. It was true- her hair was neck length, in a windswept bob that looked like something out of a fashion magazine.

"Thought it was time to change it up," she said simply. "Besides, the shorter length works better with the suit."

"I can't believe you still have it," I remarked, leaning against the railing next to her.

"The gods work in mysterious ways," she murmured. Then, "Okay Bruce, story time. Just, let me explain my side of things. Then if you want to do. . .whatever, by all means."

I crossed my arms. "Alright."

**Diana**

I told him everything, starting with my death.

It was difficult. Hard to explain something you don't fully understand yourself. I knew, logically, that I had died. That by the time I'd hit the water the last bit of strength given to me by the gods had ebbed, and my physical body had been obliterated.

But not my animus. . my soul. That, Aphrodite had preserved in Olympus. She'd broken gods knew how many divine rules and engaged in her first act of creation in millennia. She'd recreated me.

And from there, I'd had a choice. I could announce my miraculous resurrection to Themyiscera, to the world. I could regain my status, my title as Ambassador and as Wonder Woman. I could have my former powers again, permanently. The only catch was that I had to swear off human connection, social bonds with the outside world. I would have to erase even the appearance of impropriety. The ultimate pure and shining role model. I would no longer be part of the Justice League, but would rather be stationed on Themyiscera, where I would remain whenever I was not on official business.

The other option had been to regain my mortal body, sans powers. Due to the original spell placed upon the Amazons, my immortality would remain in place. But I would forever be human. I would never regain my powers. And I would have to hide my existence from the world. Start anew, create a new identity, and never visit Themyiscera again. Philippus, Aphrodite had told me, would most likely take up the mantle of Wonder Woman. And my perceived death would actually help spur the healing in Themyiscera. Having lost her own precious daughter, the Princess of Themyiscera, in the conflict, Hippolyta would command the devotion of Loyalists and Separatists alike. My death would be the catalyst for Themyiscera's rebirth.

"You chose the second one," said Bruce softly.

I nodded. "And Aphrodite was right. I was mourned, but Themyiscera is well on the way to being more unified than ever. I even heard that my mother has taken steps to introduce democracy."

"I'm sure Athena is beside herself with joy," he joked, cracking a full smile. I couldn't even help the deep sigh of relief that escaped me at his gesture. There was hope after all.

I turned to him, shifting my weight slightly so I could meet his eyes. "So you see Bruce, that's why I never made contact. I've been watching, listening. . .and I've been steadily constructing a new life for myself. One on my terms."

"I'm a bit surprised," he admitted.

"Why?"

"You went for the second option. I thought all along, the goal was to get back what was taken from you. Your status, your powers. Yet Aphrodite offered them back to you on a silver platter and you refused."

I looked skyward, in thought. "Maybe I just thought that's what I was after."

He smirked. "How Zen of you."

I poked him lightly. "Shut up. I'm being serious Bruce. Maybe. . .I don't know, believe me I've wrestled with this a lot too. I mean, for me being Wonder Woman was all I had. It was my identity, Wonder Woman, Ambassador to Man's World. I loved it Bruce. And when it was taken away, I guess I subconsciously thought, 'well now who am I? Now what good am I?'". I paused, trying to collect my thoughts. "And then. . .you were there Bruce. You showed me that even without my powers, I could right wrongs. Help people. You showed me that I didn't have to be Wonder Woman to have a purpose."

"Well, really it was-"

"But even then, something was missing," I continued, before he got to full of himself. "Defining my identity based on, even a man as amazing as you, wasn't much better than defining it based on my former title. So I when took Aphrodite's second option, I tried something new altogether."

"Oh?"

"Yes. My funeral barge was beautiful. It also contained roughly 6.5 million euros worth of my own antiques, belongings, jewelry, and fine clothing."

"That's over ten million dollars."

"Yep. A drop in the bucket, compared to the kind of cash_ you_ deal with on a regular basis. But once I was able to sell a good chunk of the less sentimental items- jewelry, silks, what have you, I was left with a sizable amount of money. Enough to make my own way right back in Gateway."

He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. "So these last two months, you've been building a whole new life, Diana?"

I gave him a conspiratorial grin. "Well, it's not really Diana Prince anymore, Bruce." I gave him a few seconds of suspense before continuing. "Linda Carter."

His face twitched. "Linda Carter? Doesn't suit you at all."

"Maybe, but it's not exactly Myspace, Bruce. Making up new identities isn't easy for us non-billionaires, I had to go with minor-level hacking and an unverified Social Security number. Whoever Linda Carter was, she's either dead or has a new identity herself. So for now, that's me."

"Okay. . .Linda." His face scrunched up again. "Yeah, that's the last time I'm calling you that."

I laughed. "Have it your way Bruce." I could tell he still wasn't comfortable with me- the new me- to slip into familiar laughter himself. But he was getting there. I put a bit more gravity into my tone. "I really am sorry Bruce, for putting you through that."

He looked away, and then, resignedly, back at me. "It's alright, Diana. I understand. I just find it hard to believe that I'm the only one who knows you're alive. What about the League, your friends? Wally, John, Shayera. . ." he trailed off. "How long are you going to let them think you're dead?"

"It's a tough question, Bruce-"

"Most questions worth asking are."

"Well what do you want me to say? That I don't know? Well fine, I don't know. I have no idea, Bruce, I don't always know what to do like you do. If I tell Wally and John and Clark and Shayera, what then? Word will spread. Around the Watchtower, at first, and then back planetside. To the media. . .to the government-" I almost shuddered thinking about having Agent Levin on my tail. A complication I certainly didn't need. "I can't go back to my old life Bruce, for so many reasons. . .not the least of which is that I promised the gods I wouldn't. I just. . ." I trailed off as, suddenly, he was right up close, pulling me in toward him and wrapping his arms around me. I snuggled into his broad frame and hugged him back, amazed at how much I'd missed his warmth and feel. I let out the breath my rant had been building up, and he just held me closer and ran a hand gently through my hair.

"I don't always know what to do either," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh?" My head was still cradled against his chest, but I could picture the smile in his voice. "Like when?"

"Well. . ." he pulled back just enough to place two fingers under my chin and lift it up so that my eyes once again met his. "What about all the times I should have told you how much I love you, but didn't."

I blinked at him, and the declaration he'd just thrown my way out of left field. My mouth open and closed, but no sound came out."

His gaze searched mind, a little confused by my reaction. "Just an example," he went on.

"I-you. . ." _Deep breath, Diana. _"You love me, Bruce?"

"So much it scares me," he said simply. "Doesn't mean I'm not still a little bit mad at you, because believe me-"

I kissed him. Partly to shut him up, partly because I still couldn't think of anything else to say, and partly because. . .well, what else _can _you do when the man you're in love with overcomes his commitment-phobia enough to say those three little words?

It wasn't rough or wildly passionate, we'd had that before. This kiss was more lingering. We took our time, exploring it and reacquainting ourselves with the feel of each other. His hand came back up, cradling the back of my head while the other went to the small of my back, practically molding me against him. I giggled.

"What?" he murmured, his lips brushing mine. I pulled back an inch, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Is that a batarang in your pocket, Bruce, or are you just happy to see me?"

Worst joke I've ever told, but neither of us cared. In fact, the look that he gave me was downright wicked. "Well. . ."

**Bruce**

"Well that seemed to go well," Alfred remarked later that evening as we ate dinner. "One would scarcely believe she nearly thrashed you hours earlier."

"Mmm." I swallowed my own mouthful before continuing, "Is that how she told it?"

He chuckled. "Perhaps a bit more time in the gym, sir?"

"Everyone's a comedian," I muttered. "But yes, it did go well."

"You've been given another chance," Alfred said, more seriously. "It's a rare thing."

I set my fork down. "It's uncharted territory, Alfred. If it was hard for us before all this, part of me wonders how any relationship stands a chance when as far as anyone else is concerned, she's dead."

"And the other part?"

Good point. Truth was, the other part knew that whatever the circumstances, I loved her. Simple as that. Wherever our relationship went from here, it would have that as its backbone. The other part wasn't worried at all.

I told Alfred this and he nodded knowingly. The topic shifted then, everything from his relationship with Leslie to some new composite plastics I wanted to incorporate in the batsuit's cowl. After we cleaned up, I suited up for a normal patrol in the city and made it back before sunrise. Drifted off to sleep, my customary nightmares and feverish dreams replaced by one Themyisceran princess who'd survived the wrath of a god and even her own death.

It was the most peaceful rest I'd had in years.

The End

********************************************************8

**Epilogue**

"Hello, Hassan," said the white man.

Hassan Al Hassani froze, dropping the breads and meats from market that he'd carried back to his small flat. Questions leapt to mind, among them: what was a strange man doing in his home? Why was that man European and dressed in a finely-tailored suit? How did he know Hassan's own tribal dialect, a variation of Morocco's Berber language? Here in Afghanistan, this blonde, imposing figure was the first Hassan had ever heard speak it.

The man rose, calmly pressing his hands together. He was large, and incredibly dangerous. Hassan could feel it oozing out of him, Armani suit or not. "Did you not understand me, Hassan?" the man asked. "Perhaps I could speak with you in Farsi, if you prefer-"

Hassan whipped out the short-barreled .38 revolver he kept tucked in his waistband. Whoever this man was, he clearly knew far more about Hassan than he could permit. Unflinchingly, he emptied all six rounds into the man. Distance of maybe seven feet, large stationary target. . .all but the first hit directly. Forehead, shoulder, chest, chest, arm.

The gun clicked empty. The other man stood frozen, still.

Then he reached up and calmly peeled the flattened slug of hot metal from his forehead, letting it drop to the dusty wooden floor with a hollow thunk. He arched an eyebrow at Hassan and took a step forward, an amused smile on his lips.

Hassan's heart felt like it would stop beating at any moment. "Who _are_ you?" he whispered.

"Believe it or not, Hassan the bomb-maker, I am your ally," the man calmly replied.

"Nonsense."

The man chuckled. "Don't let my appearance fool you, Hassan. I have a very particular interest in the kind of work you do. You're a very innovative young man. Recruited in Morocco, educated in France with degrees in chemistry and polymer science. Then sent to Afghanistan, to aid the fight against the 'Great Satan'."

"I have no idea what you're-"

"Yes, you do. And it's alright, Hassan. Your techniques, especially when it comes those delightful little roadside bombs. . .you're an underappreciated genius, Hassan. A classical artist, if you will, forced to work with recycled brushes and polluted canvas. Think about what you could do if you got your hands on quality materials. Ammonium nitrates, fissile isotopes, playthings you've been _dreaming_ to get your hands on. Not to mention funding, Hassan. Petty fraud and embezzlement haven't been gaining you much, have they? What could you do with ten times your current bankroll?"

Hassan's eyes narrowed. "You listen, I am many things, Mr.-"

"Guerra," supplied the man.

"Yes, Guerra," said Hassan, "but I am no fool. Why on earth should I believe a word you say? What I do is none of your business, but I can assure you I need no assistance in my own endeavors."

The man who called himself Guerra shrugged. Then, reaching down to the floor, he picked up a shining, semi-reflective briefcase. Striding calmly to the dining room table, he set down the briefcase and placed a small silver key on the surface next to it. Lastly, he took out a business card, which he placed on top of the briefcase.

"What is this?" Hassan asked, confused.

The man smiled. "I'm going to go now, Hassan. Use the key, and in this briefcase you will find a small sample of the gifts that I can provide to you and your organization. Make good use of them- and when you have seen firsthand what I can offer, call the number on the card." He paused. "I think you and I will have a very profitable relationship, Hassan Al-Hassani."

The Moroccan reached out and picked up the key, his gaze flitting from it, to the briefcase, to the man.

Guerra was gone, inexplicably. Just as he had survived five point-blank gunshot wounds, inexplicably. Hassan was beginning to wonder if he could even trust his senses anymore.

Still. . .gingerly, he took the key and unlocked the small mechanism at the briefcases clasp. There was a faint tick of metal clicking into place, and then the top slowly opened.

Hassan gasped in delight. He snatched up the business card and examined it in the light. The card was simple: the Greek letter Omega, followed by an international phone number.

Hands trembling, Hassan, set the card back down and took the briefcase's contents out one by one. It was careful work, considering the. . .'volatility' of the substances involved. It was like a fantasy come true. The infidels would never know what had hit them. . .

* * *

Meanwhile, outside in the busy streets, the man who called himself Guerra was wearing a new appearance and a new identity. He was confident that Hassan would overcome his initial mistrust, and put the parting gift Guerra had left him to rather _explosive_ use. In the grand scheme of things, the man was plotting a revenge that went to the very gates of Olympus itself. But first things first: a little regional conflict and chaos to feed his rapidly-replenishing powers. The time for vengeance would come in due time.

The man who really wasn't a mere man at all chuckled to himself as he turned down a dark, deserted alley and disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the slight haze of smoke and brimstone.

* * *

**AN:**

So, it's finished. Sorry once again for this final delay, but it might surprise you to know that I had _no_ idea how this story would end when I started it. Happy ending or sad, or ambiguous? Would Diana regain her powers? Should she? Would her relationship with Bruce survive intact?

Hopefully I did an acceptable job of tying things (as much as I could) together. It's a relief to finally have finished this work, and while I know its far from perfect, I think I'd be happy if I just gave these rich characters another story worthy of the source material, to add to the many gems that already populate this fandom.

Anywho, enough rambling. Please, pleaseplease just drop a comment or review- I'd love to hear what you think!

**-Cleric**

_PS_: I've decided to reboot my Last Laugh fanfic, much as I did with Prodigal, so by all means keep an eye out for an update coming soon ;)


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